Break Free
by ithilbereth
Summary: Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth has been sheltered by her three bothers and well-meaning father all of her life. But with the tide of the Ring War rising and her thirst for adventure nigh unquenchable Lothíriel decides to take matters into her own hands and embark on a journey of her own, never knowing she would find unyielding love and vicious bloodshed, and what it may cost her.
1. Chapter 1: A Day in the Life

I will say, first and foremost, that I obviously own nothing Tolkien. I could never fathom to imagine all that he accomplished over 30+ years. That being said, I am merely borrowing from him, and I strive to follow the story as much as I can for the sake of my own. If you find something wrong or would like to question me about something, feel free!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One - A Day in the Life**

Lothíriel still felt the penetrating warmth of the rays of the sun through the thick, ivory blanket stuffed with swan feathers. Even through the various scattering of rabbit pelts overtop of the blanket, her eyelids betrayed her sleep-muddled mind and processed the golden rays of daylight. She burrowed deeper into the feather mattress of her bed and pulled the coverlet over her head, grumbling protests as her maid flitted about her sleeping chambers. Unbeknownst to Lothíriel's complaints, her maid went about pulling back the deep, navy curtains to allow more of the bothersome morning rays into the Princess's room.

"Time to rise, Princess." Celís chirped happily, drawing wide another set of curtains. "It is almost midmorning."

"Go away, Celís." Lothíriel grumbled while the older woman merely laughed and continued about the room. She went to the fire in the hearth and roused it, humming merrily, before approaching her mistress's four poster bed with her hands on her hips.

"That is not how any Gondorian lady should act." Celís curled aged fingers around the coverlet and yanked unceremoniously, revealing her charge curled into a tight ball, black hair strewn about the white linen like liquid.

"Celís!" Lothíriel groaned, grappling for the linen with a blind hand. "I want to sleep a little longer!"

"You've already missed breakfast, my lady; you do not want to miss archery practice with your brothers as well."

At the mention of food, Lothíriel let out another unladylike groan and sat up slowly, brushing a lock of waist-length hair out of her face and blinking grouchily against the rays of the sun. "I missed breakfast?"

"Aye," the maid chortled, moving to a small table by the hearth. "But your unfailing and loyal maid saved you a hearty plate."

The Princess of Dol Amroth beamed sleepily, before letting out a yawn befit a lion and stretching pale arms above her head languorously. "I knew I kept you around for a reason, Celís."

"That, and to keep you out of trouble." Celís brought over a tray of porridge and biscuits, as well as a side of ham and an apple, to her mistress.

"I do not get into trouble." Lothíriel scoffed, crossing her slim legs beneath her on the bed, draping her white, linen shift around her before reaching for the food. "I am trouble."

"Aye, and don't I well know it." Celís replied, moving to her mistress's wardrobe to pull an outfit out for her for the day.

"Archery in the morning, lunch with your nephew in the afternoon, and don't forget you promised him a turn on the pony your father purchased for him." Celís was saying while Lothíriel ate energetically at her breakfast, sipping at the strong tea that accompanied it. "There is a storm brewing off the coast, so I think the waters may be a bit too choppy for sailing this afternoon."

"But it is more fun if the waters are rough!"

"And what am I to tell your father when you drown?" Celís turned to her with a raised eyebrow and a gown sewn of sea green, with light embroidery around the square neck.

"Ladies born of the sea do not drown." Lothíriel remarked, managing to sound haughty around a mouthful of food.

"Do not talk with your mouth full! Have the last twenty years of gentle upbringing gone completely unheard?"

"No," Lothíriel swallowed, beaming happily. "But you try growing up with three brothers."

"I had four." Celís chastised, though she could not hide a smile from her beloved lady. "Up you go now, off to archery practice. Make haste, make haste!"

* * *

Chewing upon her apple and humming a lively tune, Lothíriel made her way from her personal chambers to the throne room. She was looking forward to besting her brothers at archery on such a fine morning; so much so, her preoccupied mind didn't comprehend the raised voices coming from the throne room. However, upon entering the mighty room she came to find her father and three brothers, as well as a man whose sigil had him hailing from Lebennin, in the midst of a heated discussion that, by the sounds of it, shouldn't have included her. She stopped abruptly and ducked into the shadows of the stone columns lining the throne room, tucking her quiver and bow behind her as to not give her away.

"More attacks have come from the east, my Lord. Orcs and uruk-hai are raiding our villages, pilfering from our people, killing our women and children!"

Her father, the Prince of Dol Amroth Imrahil himself, paced before the dais, unbeknownst to her presence hidden in the shadows of the stone columns. His salt and pepper hair, falling to just brush his shoulders, billowed about his head, his tunic emblazoned with the swan of Dol Amroth proud on his chest. Her brothers stood in a small group across the hall from her, and despite her best efforts to stay concealed she caught Amrothos's eye. He stayed silent, but warned her to keep hidden with a solemn shake of his head.

"The droves are getting thicker, coming more frequently. Our people are being hunted and do not understand why! They do not know of this threat that plagues them unmercifully!" The messenger was incensed, yet his anger was shared in the way the guards in the room shifted restlessly and her brothers exchanged looks between one another.

"The shadow in the east grows." Imrahil said more to himself than anyone else, a hand poised on his bearded chin.

"My Lord, what would you have us do?" the messenger asked in earnest, stepping toward the Prince.

There was a heartbeat of silence. "We need to send messages to our kinsmen." Prince Imrahil stated. His sons stood a little straighter as he swung his gaze their way. "We need to prepare our people for war.

"Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos," he met each son in turn, and three sets of pale, grey eyes settled on their sire, steadfast and true. "You each will take with you six riders to warn our neighbors of these heinous sins cast upon us by the Dark Lord. It will not be tolerated; the Age of the Orc will not come to fruition while there is still breath in my body!"

Lothíriel squeezed her apple tightly, her heart beginning to beat wildly in her chest. _Dark Lord? Are we to go to war? What is going on?_

"Erchirion, cross through Edhellond and head for Anfalas. Speak to their liege, and then return here to prepare for battle." Imrahil turned to his youngest son, hard eyes glinting in the torchlight of the throne room. "Amrothos, ride to Rohan. Meet with King Théoden in Edoras, and then send word to me. You may need to stay with the King." He then turned to his eldest, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Elphir, ride to Minas Tirith. Speak with your uncle Denethor. I will have you stay there."

"But father—"

"No. You are my first heir. If there was trouble here, I would not want to lose you in it." Imrahil turned back to the messenger, who stood before his Prince ramrod stiff and awaiting his own orders. "Rest here for the night; the servants will see to it that you are given hot meals and a place to rest. Tomorrow, you all ride out."

Lothíriel's fingers closed tightly around her apple while her other hand retracted into a fist. Her jaw clenched hotly, and she had to stop herself from running into the middle of the room to demand her place amongst the children of Imrahil. She could almost hear her father's voice now:

"_You are to stay here daughter. I could not risk your life."_

She would fight, of course. "_Then why have me trained in archery? Holding a bow before I could even walk?"_

He would smile at her endearingly, maybe lay a gnarled hand on her cheek. _"To hope that I would never see you have to use it."_

She bristled, willing to fight to have her way. How many times had she been left behind on enemy raids and search parties? When her brothers went to different lands and helped her countrymen fight, she was left at home to _practice her archery. _Why could she not help? Why could she not fight for those that she loved? She cut a scathing glare filled with jealousy at her brothers as they, in unison, nodded and bowed to their liege lord.

"As you would have it, father."

The Prince nodded, then discarded them with a wave of his hand. He took his leave first, exiting the throne room to perhaps head to his own quarters. Lothíriel decided she would deal with him later and pursue her easiest target for information: Amrothos. Older by only a handful of years, they were similar in temperament and humor, and often got into more trouble together than not.

"Hail, brothers." Lothíriel said cheerily, stepping out from behind the stone column and taking another bite of her apple. "Ready to be bested by a female once more? It is time for our archery."

"Lothíriel," Erchirion made to step forward and take her proffered arm, but a knowing glance and a slight shake of his head from Elphir stilled him. Erchirion would want to tell her all that had transpired, talk her out of her anger, but the eldest of the brood, _and the most boring,_ Lothíriel thought, would want to shelter her. Like their father. Their pretty little swan, stuck in her cage.

"Elphir and I beg of our leave of you. You'll only have Amrothos to beat this morning." Erchirion said, his smile not quite reaching his warm, grey eyes.

She cocked her head in mock innocence, chewing her apple thoughtfully. "Why so brother? Where has father gone?"

"We will speak of it tonight." Elphir cut in, throwing a cautionary glance at Amrothos that Lothíriel interpreted as _keep quiet_.

"If you insist." Lothíriel grabbed Amrothos and forced him to cradle her arm. "Shall we?"

She waited until they were bathed in morning light and the sounds of the ocean had faded, leaving the small castle behind them as they descended upon the training grounds.

"Well? Out with it; tell me what is going on."

Amrothos sighed, because he knew a battle against his sister was pointless. "Raids from the east have begun to plague us more and more. Father has known for some time now that there has been a grave danger upon us, but had hoped it would sort itself out. He has found that we are not so lucky. He wants us to carry word of the danger to our neighbors, to amass an army if need be and fight."

"Fight? Against whom?"

"Orcs." At her strange look, Amrothos elaborated. "Goblin mutants, led by the White Wizard Saurman. Haradrim from the south and mercenaries from the seas. Together they have created an army mightier than anything we could have ever imagined."

Fear gripped at Lothíriel. How had she never heard of any of this before? Her countrymen were in danger! "Why? For what purpose?"

"Power." Amrothos shrugged, as if he didn't understand. "You remember the tales of Sauron that Uncle Denethor used to tell us?" At her nod, he continued. "He is behind it all. He is raising these filthy creatures from the ground to wipe out the race of men. While the elves are leaving for the Undying Lands and the dwarves are all but isolated in their mountain halls, they leave us here to defend Middle Earth ourselves."

Lothíriel couldn't help but pick out the sour notes in his voice. She had never met an elf or a dwarf, but heard that the former were ruthless and hated the race of Men, thinking them weak and barbaric, and the latter were greedy and selfish.

"Sauron is after a ring," Amrothos continued. "The One Ring of Power. It can only be destroyed in the fires of Mordor and it is being carried by a hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins to do just that. A motley group of nine, including our dear cousin Boromir, make up the Fellowship of the Ring. Their sole purpose is to help Frodo take the ring to Mordor."

"What happens if Sauron gets the ring? Why are we entrusting this deed to a hobbit?" She had seen a hobbit before; in fact, there was one that came down to trade his wood carvings at the docks every first Monday of the month. As small as children, with shaggy hair and big, hairy feet. Nothing spectacular. Why, Lothíriel was sure they didn't even wield weapons!

Amrothos shrugged. "I do not know much beyond that. However, I do know if Sauron gets his hands on the Ring of Power, those tales that you heard as a child will come to culmination."

Lothíriel could not suppress a shiver that stole up her spine. "Why has father not acted sooner?"

"He didn't think it would come to this point." Amrothos replied dismally.

"And he expects me to sit by and just wait while my brothers go to war? Not knowing if they will ever come back?" Lothíriel couldn't stop the bitterness from taking over her tone as they reached the practice yards. The men were used to seeing the Princess there by now, so the morning greetings were short, allowing Lothíriel to keep Amrothos focused on the conversation and not change the subject like he probably wanted to.

Amrothos cut her a stern look. "He does it not to spite you. He does it out of love, Lothíriel."

The Princess of Dol Amroth tucked away a piece of black hair that had come loose of her braided coronet as she slung her bow over her shoulder and reached for an arrow. With stormy grey eyes, she shot a look of contempt at her brother. "Love, pah! I want to fight for my kinsmen too!"

Amrothos watched her take the first shot, and shook his head when it hit the mark dead on. "Lothíriel… You do not know the ways of war. It is not all gallantry and victory. These foes that we face now…"

"I know, I know." She notched another arrow to her bow and let it fly just as quickly, once again rousing a disbelieving shake of his head from her brother. She threw a grin up at him, letting the singing of the released bow ring in his ears. "But who will be there to save you from the orcs when your clumsy fingers drop your sword?"

Amrothos threw back his raven-haired head and laughed heartily. "I will have to call to your spirit and pray that elven magic carries it my way."

They fell into easy banter then, the kind that the closest of siblings shared. Amrothos shared more information with her about the war taking foot and his thoughts on the matter, all the while never once noticing the spark in his sister's stormy, grey eyes.

* * *

Later that day Lothíriel took her nephew to saddle and led his pony around the yard with him for a few hours, telling him tales of his ancestors of Dol Amroth. All the while her mind was working on creating her own tale, one that would sure to make her stand out from her family tree.

Over the course of the afternoon, she had formed a plan that would see to it that she would experience adventure, traverse new lands, and play a part in this growing war. Not that she wanted to fight orcs or the lot! But she would not stand idly by either, no, not anymore. She wanted to do something! She wanted to break free of the cage of Dol Amroth!

When Alphros's mother came to collect him to ready for supper, Lothíriel had a stable hand saddle her own mare Seawind to take to the beach, for sailing had indeed been out of the question due to the impending weather.

_And I would like to see the sea before I go._

"My lady, wait while I retrieve a guard to take with you." The stable master presented himself with a bow as Lothíriel, very much to his horror, hoisted herself up onto her horse. No doubt he had been forewarned by the stable hand that she intended to ride off alone, but she had no intention of taking a guard with her; she never did, and she was not about to start now. She graced the man with a smile so flourishing he blushed clear up to his receding hairline.

"No need, Borigan." She said, settling herself onto her saddle, her quiver and bow slung over one shoulder. She gave old Borigan a conspiratorially wink and bent down to give Seawind an affectionate pat to her neck. "Just send word to father I will be a little late for supper."

_After all, that is part of the plan._

And without another word or giving the poor man a chance to answer, she spun Seawind around and took off across the courtyard before the castle, heading for the path to beach.

Her laughter danced on the wind tearing through her hair, pulling strands from the coronet Celís worked so diligently at this morning. Seawind took to the cobbles, forcing townsfolk heading home to nimbly move out of her way, though they spared her no anger. The beloved Princess of Dol Amroth could do no harm in their eyes. She had grown up as one of them, had always treated them fairly and with respect; in fact, many waved to her as she sprinted by on Seawind, her gown billowing about her booted feet.

Once they reached the rocky terrain of the hills before the beach, Lothíriel slowed her mount and took in the sight of the sun taking its final trek across the sky to disappear beneath the waves. Off in the distance the clouds were great, dark and ominous, threatening to overtake the sky with lightning and thunder. A fierce wind brought from the surf buffeted her slight body as she and Seawind wandered down to the beach, the sand now soft and quiet beneath her hooves.

"I have a plan, Seawind." Lothíriel shared with her mare, causing the beast to turn her ears back as if she were truly listening.

"I am going on an adventure." Lothíriel breathed, her eyes glittering in the golden light of the fading sun. She pulled Seawind to a halt and faced the ocean, a smile tugging at the corners of her dusky pink lips. "I will make father so angry at dinner tonight that he will not deem to ask for me until well into tomorrow, and by then it will be too late! For you see," She leaned down against the neck of her mare and lowered her voice as if someone were there to overhear her. "I am going to go with Amrothos to Rohan! No, he will not know. I will have Celís steal the clothes of one of the guards, and drug him so he does not wake on the morrow in time to leave. How you ask? You know good and well, Seawind, her husband works at the Houses of Healing here in Dol Amroth! I will simply bid her to fetch poppy juice, and put it in the guard's wine." She laughed at her own cunning; it had taken her all day to think of such a plan!

She straightened in the saddle, and Seawind moved side to side, as if not liking the plan one bit. "I know, I'm sorry, for you know I cannot take you. I'll have to ride a warhorse if I am to fit in with a pack of men, pretend to be one of them. But I will not be gone long! Rohan is but a few days ride from here, and we will not be staying long. I do not think so, anyway."

Gripping the reins with a heady sense of adventure and her heart light, Lothíriel grinned to the sea, turning Seawind back towards the mighty castle of Dol Amroth. She wouldn't miss her home at all, she told herself, as she kicked Seawind into a gallop along the beach. She was going to help her kinsmen, to break free of her cage, and create her own tale of wonder!

* * *

I most enjoy any questions, comments, or concerns you may have, so feel free to leave me some. :]


	2. Chapter 2: A Meeting with Firebreather

**Chapter Two: A Meeting with Firebreather**

"Absolutely not."

Lothíriel rolled her eyes, sinking deeper into the wooden tub as Celís washed her hair.

"Celís—"

"No. Lothíriel, no. Absolutely not. Not for one hundred pieces of gold could you convince me to take part in this harebrained plot of yours. No."

Lothíriel skulked so deep into the water that rose petals and warm water teased her chin, and she threw a glare over her shoulder as Celís scrubbed her hair more forcefully than the action allotted.

"Of all the things you have asked me, I think that might be the one that takes all the others. Really Lothíriel! Where would such dangerous ideas come from?" Celís took the bar of soap from nearby and scrubbed it into Lothíriel's locks, causing the princess to mouth the word "ow" as she did so. "You were raised better than that!"

"But Celís!" Lothíriel turned around in the tub, sending water sloshing onto the floor and causing Celís to drop her hair and the soap into the tub. Think of the stories I'll have when I return! I'll get to see troops of men preparing for a battle, the biggest battle Middle Earth has ever seen! Maybe I'll even get to see an orc!" At the stricken look Celís suddenly adopted, Lothíriel thought that probably wasn't the best admonishment to make. She quickly changed tactics. "And the mighty Rohirrim! I've never been to Rohan! I hear their prince is quite handsome; mayhaps I'll return with a husband?" Celís would like nothing more.

The older woman pondered it for a moment before shaking her gray head vigorously. "No. Your father would have my head."

"But he won't know! No one will know that I have gone with Amrothos!"

"And how have you figured that?"

Lothíriel faltered. She had, in fact, not thought about what would happen at home once she took to the road with Amrothos.

"How long do you think it will take your father to figure out that you are missing? And what am I to say when I am questioned?"

"Well, judging how supper went this evening…"

* * *

_"Father, I am going with Amrothos."_

_ Her father barely lifted his eyes from his plate. He thought her statement held not a word of truth, and denied to acknowledge it further than that._

_ "What do you mean, you're coming with me? Where?" Amrothos asked, aghast._

_ "I heard you all talking this morning, here in the hall. There is to be a battle. I'm going." Lothíriel announced. She wasn't lying, at least. But she knew her father would never believe her. And that was the point…and to bring him to such ire that he ordered her from the table. Which would give her a chance to "retire early". Which, in turn, would give her more than enough time to convince Celís to aide her and then prepare for her journey tomorrow, all the while assuring that her father would not bother her until well into next morning. _

_ Amrothos sputtered on his soup and Elphir cast her a black look. "You were listening?"_

_ "Oh come now, Elphir." Lothíriel asked, as if he would expect anything better from her._

_ "Daughter, you test me." Imrahil growled finally, turning eyes that matched hers in color to rest on her fine features._

_ "But father, you cannot expect me to sit here and wait for news while my brothers and our kinsmen go to war!"_

_ "No respectable Gondorian maiden rides into battle." Her father responded heavily._

_ "I will not be left behind. I have decided I am accompanying Amrothos, and he has agreed it is a good idea."_

_ Amrothos began to cough violently under the scrutiny of all those at the high table. "I said no such thing!" He admonished vehemently._

_ "Lothíriel, I forbid it."_

_ "I do not care what you say, father. I am the best archer in Dol Amroth and I will not stand by idly while my countrymen fight a foe unlike anyone in Middle Earth has ever seen. The league of Men need all the help they can muster, and I count as one of them! You will not keep me here against my will."_

_ "Lothíriel—" Erchirion, ever the sensible one, tried to cut in, but she kept going, stirring everyone to ire._

_ "I will hear no words of denial; I am my own lady and make my own decisions. Our ancestors would be proud to have such a noble female willing to risk her life to ride for the mighty country of Gondor!"_

_ "Enough." Her father heeded, his eyes returned to his plate, but Lothíriel paid no mind._

_ "You are a child," Elphir remarked coolly, sending anger sparking up her spine to cloud her vision. He knew she hated being called a child; she was far from one!_

_ "You dare mock me!" She seethed through clenched teeth. "I am a woman, and a woman of Gondor. There is even a trace of the elves in my blood! Have you forgotten our ancestors?"_

_ "Would you like me to compare you to cowards and traitors?" Elphir all but spat, tearing at his meat with renewed vigor. "The elves have left us in our time of need."_

_ Lothíriel ignored the jab and instead saw her opening and took it. "That's why I am needed on the front lines!"_

_ "Enough!" Imrahil bellowed, slamming a fist on the table, causing his goblet of wine to teeter dangerously before spilling. He rose from his chair and brought his flashing eyes to meet those of his daughter's, and though she had rarely seen him so angry, she did not drop her own gaze._

_ "I will not sit here and listen to your whimsical musings any longer! You have no idea what you are asking for, demanding to ride into a land full of enemies and war! You have never seen the light of battle, and I mean to keep it that way! You are to stay here, Lothíriel, and I will not hear another word about it. Now get you gone; I long for quiet and you have well exceeded my patience."_

_ Stiffly, but with her head held high, Lothíriel left the high table, her dinner barely touched._

* * *

Lothíriel sighed deeply as Celís began to rinse her hair in the rose water. She was not hurt by her father's words; he was a stern man, but he loved her deeply and would forgive her outbursts in time. After all, she _had_ been pushing the limits. Showing up to supper late, covered in dirt, smelling of salt and her hair a wild, tangled mess, had been just the very outer limits of her father's anger of which she had been willing to tempt.

It was summertime in Dol Amroth and the curtains billowed with a cool, ocean breeze, though the air was still warm from the light of day. Lothíriel allowed the conversation to lapse into silence as she pondered her next move against Celís; the old maid did not stand a chance against the willful Princess who wanted her way.

She waited until Celís was finished washing her hair and had helped her dry off and pull on a linen robe, to come at the helpless woman with another attack.

"Celís please," Lothíriel turned suddenly, gripping her shoulders. "Father never lets me go anywhere, and in a few years time I will be married off to another man who thinks to keep me sheltered in a different gilded cage. I just want to see new lands, experience life beyond the Ered Nimrais, if only for a moment!"

Lothíriel watched as Celís's blue eyes flickered with guilt before meeting the hard stone floor. Too true she knew the Princess's words to be. For years Celís had watched as Lothíriel fumbled at her stitching, yet excelled in archery. The princess had been forced to ride ponies and old mares while her brothers rode warhorses. Too many times the yearning to journey out on hunts and searches had shone in her Little Loth's eyes, only to be extinguished when her father quickly dismissed her in his well-meaning way, bidding her to pick up a gentler sport. Lothíriel had grown bold as the years had drawn on, and some concessions had been made, but Celís could clearly see this opportunity, no matter how disastrous it might be, would mean the world to the Princess. And she did love her Little Loth deeply…

"Celís, I promise no harm will come to me, and I will be back before you know it." Lothíriel rushed the words, her breath no more than a whisper. She clutched the old woman's hands now, twining their fingers. "You have raised me from a babe; you know I mean no harm in my ideations. I only want to see Rohan and go on an adventure! A simple journey no longer than a fortnight to deliver a message is harmless, and will allow me my desires. Why, think of how I will return with lovely stories of the Riddermark and their mighty horselords, handsome soldiers all vying for a princess's hand! That is, if I am found out; and if I am, at least I will be with my brother. You know Amrothos would see no harm come to me. I will be well protected by the Rohirrim in any case of harm, though there will be none and I will be home in no time." She smiled then, a lovely smile. "I will bring you back a trinket; perhaps a lovely cloak? A broach depicting the white horse of Rohan?"

Celís gripped Lothíriel's hands tightly, turning her face to the ceiling. "Oh, may the grace of the heavens save me from your father's wrath, and may he and the gods both forgive the sins we are about to commit."

"Oh Celís," Lothíriel grabbed her maid in a tight hug, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You awful child," Celís reared back and gripped Lothíriel's shoulders. "How dare you exploit an old woman's feelings! Now make haste, tell me what you would have me do before I change my foolhardy mind."

* * *

When Celís returned to Lothíriel's chambers not two hours later, looking as white as a sheet but having claimed the deed of drugging the guard's wine, as well as her other atrocities, done, Lothíriel took to her wardrobe to pull out her riding satchel in growing excitement. Celís sat down on her mistress's bed, looking quite faint, while Lothíriel pulled out the leather bag and tossed it to the bed.

"I hope I didn't put too much poppy juice in his wine…"

"How many tunics should I bring?"

"Margod said no more than half the vial, for a deep sleep…"

"They will expect to travel light and fast."

"I can't believe I drugged that guard; my poor husband thought the poppy juice was for the Princess…"

"Do I have any trousers?"

"What about your hair?"

Lothíriel stilled her movements, having been rooting through her wardrobe for aforementioned trousers. She turned to face Celís with a quizzical look on her face. "My hair?"

"How are you to hide it?" Celís asked, motioning to the ebony, wasit-length mass of hair that was still damp from her bath. It hung in a straight sheen of black grace down her back, and Lothíriel was most proud of her long locks. Why, a bard from Dol Amroth had even written a merry song about it!

"The guards wear helmets," Lothíriel replied smartly.

"And at night?"

"You know I sleep like a bear, burrowed deep in the blankets. I'll just make sure I rouse before the others."

"You, rouse before the sun is near noon point?"

Lothíriel threw a dry look at her maid, who let out a chuckle and rose from the bed. "I know where your trousers are. Have a seat, I will get them."

Lothíriel sat on the chest at the foot of her bed, pulling her hair over her shoulder. She began to stroke it absentmindedly, the locks soft as silk from the south. "Do you think I should cut it?"

Celís whipped around from her position at the wardrobe with a look of such horror on her face that Lothíriel could not suppress a giggle. "Cut it? Why on earth would you do such a thing?"

"To make the men less suspicious." Lothíriel replied, beginning to plait some small strands.

There was a heartbeat of silence and then, "Here."

Lothíriel looked up and watched as Celís took out one of her long forgotten cloaks, old, tattered and too small. It was nearly threadbare, which allowed Celís to rip it into the shape of a square with ease. In no time at all she had Lothíriel's hair wrapped under the linen, a small knot tied at the nape of her neck.

"It will do well to hide your hair under your helmet. Even at night, you could wear this. The men would never know in the dark, if your blanket were to slip." Celís stopped, her hands dropping to her waist to twine with one another, her eyes filled with worry. "Lothíriel…"

"No, do not say it." Lothíriel stood, taking the binding from her hair. She knew what the maid was going to say, and didn't want to hear a word of it. "I'm going, and what's done is done. We cannot go back now!"

The old maid wrung her hands, her eyes flitting about the room. Lothíriel watched her age twenty years in a single moment, and guilt suddenly consumed her. She was being selfish, and she well knew it, but all she had said earlier was not untrue. As Princess of Dol Amroth she had a duty to her state, one that she could not dither from; she had to marry to strengthen the bond between allies one day. She had met some men her father had urged her way begrudgingly, and they had either been too old, too fat, or too boring. Although she knew he would not make her marry fully against her will because he loved her too much, Lothíriel did not believe in the great devotion her parents had shared, and saw for herself a fate much more mundane. Though her mother died while she was young, the fabled romance between Imrahil and Muineth was nigh legendary.

Before her lay a life of duty and obedience. One she did not relish the thought of. Could one great adventure before bowing to docility do too much harm?

"Celís, forgive my selfish words; I only want to have one great, last adventure before duty claims me. I didn't mean to drag you into all of this, but I could not do it alone." Lothíriel grabbed her weathered hands. "I trust you, and you have to believe me when I tell you that I will be all right. What danger could come from a simple ride to Rohan?"

Celís dropped her gaze to the floor and ducked her head. Lothíriel pulled the older woman into a fierce hug and kissed her temple, for she well towered over the woman. "I will bring you back two trinkets."

Celís lifted her face and laughed softly, dashing a hand under her eyes to rid herself of tears. "Aye, and I'll hold you to it."

* * *

The next morning Celís awoke Lothíriel at the first light of dawn. Together and in silence Celís helped Lothíriel dress in the stolen garb of a guard of Dol Amroth; a black tunic with a proud silver swan emblazoned on the front, a pair of brown leather breeches, and supple leather boots. Chain mail was hidden beneath the tunic, covered by a long-sleeved blood red shirt. A grey cloak was tucked into her riding satchel, as well as a dagger, a few coins, a comb, some apples, bread, and a leather wineskin. Celís had finished wrapping her hair in the linen square and watched with unhidden tears in her eyes as Lothíriel placed a helmet on her head. It was almost too big for her, as were the other clothes, but with a leather belt strung around her waist the ill-fitting clothes didn't billow too badly. The helmet would just have to wobble.

"Were you able to retrieve a bow?"

"The best I could pilfer." Celís reached to the bed behind her and handed Lothíriel a bow made of light wood, as well as a full quiver of arrows. Lothíriel could not take her personal one lest Amrothos take notice, but she was fully competent in her own abilities to be successful with any bow. How she would miss her own though, made of the finest birch and strung with twine that sang beautifully to any ear. Her quiver was constructed of matching birch and sported carvings of the sea. She had even been taught to whittle and arm her own arrows, much to her father's chagrin. Yes, she was the proud archer indeed.

Lothíriel lifted the borrowed bow and quiver over opposite shoulders as Celís let out a pained laugh. "You've turned me into a heathen in less than twelve hours my lady. I've filched wine from the kitchens and used it to drug an innocent guard, and then stole the poor lad's clothes, all the while lying to my own husband, just for your sake. And don't forget pinching from the armory, a feat punishable by whipping."

"Shall I make it three trinkets then?"

Celís laughed, and Lothíriel turned fully to face her for the final inspection. The old maid had to admit, she well didn't recognize her own charge.

"Do I look like a fierce guard of Dol Amroth?" Lothíriel dropped her voice an octave and stuck out her chest, well padded by her clothing so her ample breasts were not visible.

"You look like my beloved Little Loth." Celís whispered, pressing her lips into a thin semblance of a smile.

"Oh Celís," Lothíriel took her into her arms then and squeezed her mightily. "I cannot thank you enough. You will not regret helping me, and I promise to return swift and sure."

"If it weren't for my own sense of adventure and my love for you, you would find yourself tied to that bed. Alas, I remember running off a time or two." She pulled back and smiled at her lady, capturing her eyes and not letting her gaze go. It was as if she were memorizing the very patterns of color, the way they faded with mirth and darkened with heated passion.

"Just a time or two?" Lothíriel teased her lightly, stepping back lest she let emotion get the best of her.

"Aye, but that is another story for another time." Celís stepped back as well and straightened her spine. "You best make haste; the first light of dawn is well under way and they will be departing soon. I will try to keep your father occupied for as long as I can, but don't expect much."

A sudden sensation of fear gripped Lothíriel's heart, and she stood opposite Celís taking in the fine features of her maid. She was short of stature and pleasantly round, with beautiful, shining deep gray hair always worn in a single plait down her back. She was beautiful in her old age, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears and her lips quivering to betray her trepidation. Her skin was tanned by hours under the Dol Amroth sun, and she looked much older than her seventy years in that moment; Lothíriel thought she probably had herself to thank for that. She wore her usual garb of a gray linen skirt and white blouse with a white apron over the skirt, and fine leather slippers. She was the only woman Lothíriel had ever known as mother and staring at her now, Lothíriel deigned herself to commit every wrinkle, strand of hair, and inch of skin to memory to take to the road with her.

She forced the fear away, for there was no going back now, and replaced it with thoughts of the adventure lying before her. Her heart quickened and excitement threatened to steal her breath as her gloved hands itched to take the reins of the horse that would carry her into the gaping maw of freedom.

"I will miss you much, my lady." Celís whispered with a trembling smile.

"I will miss you more, Celís. Rest easy, and tell my father that I held you at arrow point to force your hand."

Lothíriel had to turn away then, for tears threatened to spill down her porcelain cheeks. She made for the door but listened before opening it. There was no one about at this time in this wing of the castle and Lothíriel was able to make a stealthy departure, leaving a silently weeping Celís in her wake.

* * *

Lothíriel stepped into the bustling courtyard before the castle and tried with every ounce of her being to fit in. With her saddle bag clutched in one hand and her bow and quiver bouncing on her back, she walked up to the line of horses waiting to be claimed for departure. The morning sun was just rising over the fields outlying the castle and peeked through the cracks of the battlements and gates surrounding the village in bright, orange slashes. The other riders moved about her with ease, their movements repetitive and learned over years of experience. She strived to mimic what they did while studiously ignoring her father and brothers gathered on the stone steps leading up to the doors of the throne room. She busied herself choosing a companion for the journey ahead, making sure not to opt for one that seemed to belong to someone else.

She walked up to the lone ebon warhorse who was snorting and dancing at all the commotion taking place in the yard. Black mounts were considered unlucky, the unruliest and most aggressive of all horses, which was why he was being ignored. The stable hand (who was thankfully not the same one that Lothíriel had encountered yesterday) holding his reins was struggling with the beast, and when Lothíriel walked up he said, "You don't want this one, sir. He's nigh uncontrollable."

"What's his name?" Lothíriel dropped her voice an octave, making sure to stay clear of the beast's stamping hooves.

"Firebreather." At the sound of his name, the horse jerked his head and laid his ears flat at the stable boy, who glared up at the steed.

"Firebreather." Lothíriel went to stand before the horse. She laid her gloved hand against the satin horseflesh, gracing him with a smile that turned her eyes to a warm winter's morning. "Firebreather." She spoke again, this time whispering and using her own voice, and the horse pricked his ears forward, nudging her hand roughly.

"Easy." She murmured, running a hand smoothly up his to forelock, scratching just beneath the tuft of black horsehair. "Easy.

"You're a beautiful creature, aren't you?" As if liking the sounds of her voice, the steed whinnied in response, stamping a foot but calming noticeably. "Yes, beautiful and strong. Powerful indeed. But perhaps you like sugar?" She reached into a pocket of her breeches and brought out a handful of clumped sugar, for this was a moment she had prepared for. Firebreather snorted at her dubiously before taking the confection from her hand with greedy horse lips.

"There you are," She whispered, running her hand down his sweating neck as he nudged her shoulder, and then dipped his great head to root through her hand. Lothíriel laughed lightly, knowing the stable hand was watching her with an open mouth, and reached into her saddlebag to dig out an apple.

"You have to behave if you want more." She whispered into his ear, patting his neck soothingly as he took the apple from her hand covetously, but gently.

Deciding this was to be her mount, she moved to attach her satchel under the disbelieving gaze of the stable boy. "How did you do that?" he asked as Firebreather stood still now, allowing her to attach her belongings to his saddle.

Lothíriel pulled herself up into the saddle, keeping her bow and quiver on her person, and grabbed the reins to Firebreather. Offering him another affectionate pat to his neck, she turned to face the stable boy who took a step back from the beast.

"A little respect goes a long way." She told the boy, before turning Firebreather roundabout to face her father and brothers.

Amrothos had pulled himself up on his own steed, her other brothers quickly following suit. She took in the sight of her father, reminding herself that she would see him soon; however, that did not stop the ache of remorse from tugging at her heart. How she would miss her father and his great bear hugs, wrought from his tall, sturdy form. He was a large man, and he often remarked how she inherited her height from him, though all of her beauty from her mother. How she would miss his mighty laugh, produced from his barrel-chest. She would miss jumping on his back when no one was looking and wrapping her arms around his large, square shoulders that always sported the white wolf pelt handed down from his own father. She would miss his stern looks and booming voice, his beard scruffing against her cheek when he kissed her goodnight, and his cool and calm authority. But most of all she would miss, oh how she would miss, those secret smiles he reserved only and always for her. They always touched his eyes and made them shine with the light of a thousand moons, and in those moments she felt in the deepest pit of her soul how much he cherished her. She wished she could get one now, to last her the length of her journey; the pang in her heart threatened to overtake her then, and she tore her eyes away.

Imrahil stood proud on the stairs of his home, watching as his sons prepared to embark on their quest.

If only he had known his daughter would be leaving too.

"Riders to Rohan, to me!" Amrothos whirled his dapple-grey stallion around, and six riders, including Lothíriel herself, rode up to her brother.

Under the heavy scrutiny of her father and Amrothos, both of who she was suddenly uncertain did not know every one of their guards personally and thoroughly, she sat tall in her saddle. However, when both sets of eyes roved her way, she made herself busy patting her satchel into place and steadying her antsy steed.

"Good. Very good." Her father announced, finally turning his gaze to meet Amrothos's.

"Send the Rohirrim my most humble regards, and remain a true and honest delegate of Dol Amroth, my son." Amrothos nodded, and reached down to grip the forearm his father extended his way, offering his own in return. "Ride swift, and fight hard."

The two exchanged nods and released limbs, and in the next few moments Lothíriel found herself riding out of the courtyard hard on the heels of her companions. As she urged Firebreather into a canter, she could not hide the grin that stole over her fine features. She couldn't believe it! She was actually getting away with that barely-strung-together, lack-witted plot of hers! She almost threw back her head and laughed at the sense of rapture that coursed through her veins. Instead, she lay herself down against Firebreather's neck and pushed him into a gallop as the company broke free of the confines of the city, and whispered to him, "And we're off!"

* * *

This one turned out rather long, and for that I apologize. Unless you like long chapters, then I won't. :] Thank you so much for all the kind reviews from the previous chapter, for I much enjoyed reading and responding to them, and look forward to more constructive criticism and thoughtful words.  
On another note, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I plan to have the next up in a few days. I have written it already, but would like to space out the chapters because I just started school for the semester and want to be able to be, at the very least, consistent on a weekly basis. But a little more won't hurt! :]


	3. Chapter 3: The Wrath of Wormtongue

**Chapter Three: The Wrath of Wormtongue**

They rode hard most of the morning of their departure, stopping only once to fuel themselves and the horses. Lothíriel busied herself with caring for Firebreather and her own personal needs; the former she accomplished at a distance from the others to avoid talking to the men. She made a better acquaintance with her horse, because, really, she had to talk to someone, and she even spared another apple. She had four yet, which would last her until the last day of the journey; she heard the men saying that it would take five days to reach Rohan if the weather was on their side. With it being midsummer, that was likely. The food and drink for their small troop was being brought by the flag-bearer accompanying them, but she did not want to waste too much of her own personal store.

"Once we reach the Ringló," Lothíriel told Firebreather, who stamped at her gentle voice but seemed to listen inquisitively. "that will be the farthest I've ever been from home.

"You will keep me safe, won't you?" She whispered, running a hand up from his nose to his forelock. "I trust you to. You are a mighty steed, indeed."

Firebreather tossed his head in open agreement, causing her to laugh lightly. She stroked his big head then moved to his neck with a hearty pat, before the call to mount broke their discord. As if anticipating spending more of his endless energy, Firebreather sidled to the left and then back again, making it slightly difficult for Lothíriel to mount the beast.

"Easy, Firebreather," she cooed, grabbing the horn and the back of the saddle, lifting one foot to the stirrup. "Easy."

Firebreather, in fact, did not settle, but instead pranced to the left, taking her foot-in-stirrup with him. Lothíriel gritted her teeth against a curse no Gondorian lady should know and hopped after the horse, grappling for the reins and hoping against all hope that the rest of their group didn't take notice of the antics.

"Soldier! Control your mount!" The heavy voice of her brother sliced through the air and Lothíriel was sure her face was turning the color of those horrid beets her father liked to eat.

"Sorry, Amro-er… Captain!" Lothíriel hastily amended in her deep voice. Nearly too late she recalled that her brother was indeed Captain of the Prince Imrahil's Guard and that she had heard the men calling him so along their journey thus far.

"Firebreather!" She hissed, the reins slipping from her fingers time and time again as the other men chuckled at her behavior.

To her dismay, Firebreather gave a raucous snort and stopped abruptly, causing Lothíriel to lose the balance she had so ungracefully maintained and fall roughly onto her rump. The men chortled louder as Lothíriel glared at Firebreather and disentangled her foot from the stirrup, pulling herself up from the dusty ground. As she brushed herself off, out of the corner of her eye she watched as Amrothos rode up with a frown on his handsome face.

"Soldier, if you cannot control your mount you will be ordered to carry on afoot." Amrothos leered down at her, not unkindly, as Lothíriel grabbed ahold of saddle once more and was able to mount her steed. This put her at eyelevel with her brother, and she had to busy herself with managing her wares and her horse to avoid eye contact.

"What is your name?" He asked her, his own mount growing uncertain at the way Firebreather was still prancing from side to side.

"Lorin." She said quickly; it was something she had been thinking of before, as well as the next set of lies that tumbled from her lips. "Son of Borigan. His youngest, Captain."

Firebreather snapped at Amrothos's mount and Lothíriel jerked hard on his reins, causing the horse to lay his ears flat and turn angry, brown eyes her way. She shot him a look of warning right back but loosened the reins, willing him to behave so she could leave her brother's questioning gaze.

"I won't have a man of my company carrying on as such. You are a soldier of Dol Amroth; act like one."

At that Amrothos rode off to the front of the troop, leaving Lothíriel to glare after her brother. A quick retort rode hot on her tongue, but she held it back; he would know in an instant who she was, and they were still close enough to turn around and ride home.

The company took off as a single unit once more, with Lothíriel now bringing up the rear with her unruly mount. He was strong and wanted more freedom than she was willing to give, and she had to work doubly as hard to keep him at bay. Already her limbs were tired, her bottom sore from the saddle beneath her; this was the longest she had ever been ahorse for an extended period of time. Dust from the horses' hooves clung to her sweat-slicked skin and she could feel her face burning from the glare of the sun.

But the land surrounding her was absolutely breathtaking. The wonder of it all! The dirt road gave way to lush, green land, rollicking with hills and scattered with lumbering trees in full bloom. They had passed a few houses accompanied by wide pastures of cattle or sheep, but as they drew further from Dol Amroth the more countryside they came upon. Birds roamed the sky, slipping in and out of trees or bushes, calling happily to one another and giving chase to their winged brethren. Clouds strolled lazily across a high noon sky, blue as the ocean she left behind. With the summer sun shining bright from above and the wind at their backs, Lothíriel could care less about the dirt streaking her face and the chain mail weighing heavily upon her shoulders.

This, this freedom, was her heaven; she didn't need to ascend the clouds to know any different.

* * *

Éomer strode down the Golden Hall and burst from the double doors leading outside, his gaze hot and angry to match his stiff stride. He walked to the nearest battlement and placed both hands against the stone, his fury white and hot, churning his insides.

_Gríma Wormtongue_, he thought, his chest seething with heaving breaths, _how I would like nothing more than to wring his filthy neck._

"Brother," Éowyn had followed him out, her red gown billowing out behind her as the wind whipped at her slight frame. "That vile beast would like nothing more than to exploit your temper against you; you must show better control."

"You think I do not know that." Éomer snapped, turning his flashing brown eyes on his sister.

"He knows just what to say to bring you to ire. Please, for my sake, do not tempt him." Éowyn begged softly, laying a gentle hand to his armored shoulder.

"You cannot expect me to keep my peace when he rouses me so." Éomer said through gritted teeth, the wind matching his temper by whipping his blonde hair about his head violently. "The way he leers at you. How he is always at Théoden's side, skulking in the shadows…"

They let silence lie between them, broken only by the whispering of the flags in the wind and the quiet comings and goings of the village below the Golden Hall. Not many people came near the Hall anymore, the townspeople too afraid of Gríma and his poisonous hold on their king. Éomer was disgusted by the cowardice of them; himself most of all. They were the great Rohirrim! How did one such as Gríma come to hold so much power over the mightiest of people?

No one dared to defy their beloved Théoden King, even though it was plain as day that he was all but lost. That is how.

_If only his people could see him now…_ Éomer couldn't remember the last time his uncle had seen the light of day.

"Has Théodred returned?" Éowyn strove to change the subject, hoping for a lighter note.

"No, and I have not heard word." Éowyn visibly wilted next to her brother, turning her face to the land of the Mark beyond the city walls of Edoras. "I had planned to ask for leave to ride out to the Fords, but…"

* * *

_Éomer knelt before his uncle, the King of Rohan, his blonde head bent in submission. "Théoden King, I come before you with news from the East Fold. Orcs have crossed Mering Stream and have begun pillaging the villages that lie there. Théodred has been at the Fords of Isen too long without word." He bit his tongue, watching as Théoden's head sagged to his chest and he struggled to raise it, his milky eyes gazing into nothingness._

_ "What is it that you would have your king do?" Gríma asked, his yellow teeth snapping. "What more can he do?"_

_ Éomer's nostrils flared, and he had to mentally stop himself from pouncing on Wormtongue. "I would ask that we send riders to the East Fold. To secure Mering Stream and rid our land of that filth from Mordor."_

_ "What…more…can I…do?" Théoden repeated slowly, turning his head towards Gríma._

_ "Théoden please, listen to me, for I worry for Théodred—"_

_ "No news is good news, is it not, my liege?" Gríma interjected, nodding at Théoden, causing the king to mimic his movements._

_ "No news…"_

_ "No!" Éomer raised his voice sharply, tired of tasting the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue. "Reports of attacks from Isengard have grown and Théodred is out there with only his éored. Théoden King please, send riders out there, or better still—"_

_ "How easy of you to stand there and make demands of your king; you have no idea the burden that rests on his shoulders." Gríma hissed at Éomer, and the Marshal clenched gloved hands into fists to stop himself from pummeling the ilk of Saruman. He was no invalid. He saw what was going on, what Gríma was doing to his uncle. But what could he do? Théoden was law, and he had entrusted Gríma Wormtongue to be his eyes and ears._

But at what cost?

_"Uncle please," Éowyn approached then, her voice soft and pleading. "Listen to Éomer. He only wants to help."_

_ Éomer watched as Gríma's eyes fixed on his sister, and his slimy pink tongue darted out from between cracked lips to moisten them. A bellow of rage overtook Éomer, and before he knew what was happening the guards on either side of Théoden moved in to take his arms._

_ "Release me!" Éomer roared, pulling his arms from their grasp._

_ There would be no more talking to Théoden King._

* * *

Éomer's hands clenched against the stone before he straightened and tore himself away from the lifeless bustling of Edoras. Before Gríma had come along the city had always been bright and cheerful, boasting fairs, plentiful trade, and a raucous crowd always splendid and colorful. However, as the shadow in the east grew and King Théoden's hold on his crown slowly slipped away, Éomer could only watch as the life of his beloved Edoras leeched away.

"You ready the Rohirrim. I will reapproach uncle with your plans; he will not refuse me." Éowyn offered boldly.

"Sister…" Éomer turned to face her, taking in her soft features. _But do not mistake her for a gentle maiden!_ "I cannot ask you to face that worm alone."

"He does not frighten me." Éowyn spat, lifting her delicate chin in defiance.

"I would think not." Éomer smiled, though the gesture did not reach his eyes. "However, it is his power you should fear."

Éowyn ducked her head before turning a lovely set of blue eyes to the fields of the Riddermark beyond the village, and Éomer could not help but notice her small hands curling into fists at her sides. She stood tall and shone golden under the light of the sun, her gown turning from deep, blood red to sharp crimson. Her yellow hair fell in waves behind her, and a golden circlet lined her head. "One day we shall wipe the earth of his ilk." She whispered vehemently.

"And gladly." He agreed, rousing a smile from his sister.

"Go, and see to it our cousin returns whole." Éowyn bid him.

Éomer bowed shortly to his sister and then took the stairs to the courtyard below. He exchanged a few nods with the guards as he made his way to the stable before falling into stride with Éothain, his second-in-command.

"What news, my lord?"

"We ride for the Fords of Isen to bring back Théodred. There has been no word for three days and I am not waiting for the word of leave from Wormtongue." Éomer stopped and turned to his second. "Muster the Rohirrim; we ride out at noon."

Nodding at his command, Éothain turned to do just that as Éomer himself took to the stables to ready his own mount. No one but himself count handle Firefoot, and he needed the time alone to steady his mind.

At the front of the stables next to his Uncle's famous Snowmane he found Firefoot, who stamped and tossed his head at the sight of his master. Éomer moved into the box with his steed and picked up a nearby brush to quickly clean his mount.

"We ride for the Fords, Firefoot." Éomer spoke to his horse. So deep a black he shone blue in the sunlight, Firefoot whickered and stamped a white-socked hoof in response. All four of his legs boasted white socks, licking like flames well past his knees, hence the name Firefoot. _That, and to speak of his temper and flight_, Éomer thought, recalling many a swift mission brought to fruition by his faithful steed, as well as broken skin from his quick and willfull nips.

"The time of war is upon us, though I wish it weren't so." Éomer said, brushing the neck boasting of satin horseflesh. "There are many who would see the world of Men falter. We must stand strong, Firefoot."

Firefoot tossed his head and whinnied, now eager for what he knew lie before him. For many years Éomer and Firefoot had ridden together and had fallen into a camaraderie that even some men did not have between them. Standing with him now, Éomer knew the horse was just as impatient as his rider to take to the open fields.

"We will meet peace again one day. But first, let us drive that orc filth into the ground!"

Firefoot reared slightly and Éomer laughed, tossing a green saddle blanket onto his back and running a hand across his flank. "Easy, friend. We will spend that energy soon enough. Save it for the adventure that lies ahead."

* * *

As the sun dipped below the White Mountains, Amrothos held up a gloved fist and called a halt to their ride. Exhausted and sorer than she had ever been in her life, Lothíriel gladly pulled Firebreather to a stop alongside the River Morthond. They had crossed through Edhellond in the late afternoon and fattened their stores of food, before deeming to follow the Blackroot to Erech.

"From there we will take to the mountains to pass unto Edoras." Amrothos was telling a soldier as he disembarked from his steed, swinging to the ground with ease. "We will make camp here for the night." He announced to the rest of the company.

_Thank the gods_, Lothíriel thought wondrously as she readied to dismount. Taking for granted how tired her body truly was, she stumbled when her feet hit the ground and had to grapple for the stirrup to steady herself from toppling onto her knees. She drew the looks of two of the soldiers closest to her, but forced herself to recover and ignore their stares.

_If you do not pull yourself together you will give yourself away before the sun sets_. She chastised herself hotly, straightening her spine. She looked around at where they had stopped next to the cool rushing of the Blackroot, trees surrounding them on all sides. The temperature was dropping already and with it came the sounds of nocturnal creatures. Crickets chirped through the tall grass, sounding from the banks lining the river and the forest wide, and owls hooted in disapproval at having men in their midst. Squirrels and rabbits darted into the woods under Lothíriel's inquisitive gaze, before her grey eyes moved to the rippling waters. Streaked with gold, orange, purple and hues of blue, the River Morthond shone with the dying embers of the sun and the promise of twilight, boasting stores of fish beneath the surface. She took a deep breath of the mist from the river and closed her eyes at the cooling sensation.

She listened as the men began to make camp, and swiftly opened her eyes. Firebreather was beginning to graze, and she realized suddenly that there would be no stable hand to take and brush down her mount, readying him for the night to come. Her mind halted on a complaint, quickly reminding herself that this is what she had asked for.

"Come on Firebreather," she urged, pulling him toward the pile of saddles deposited on the ground for the night. He followed obediently, though she swore the beast laughed silently at her as she struggled to pull the saddle from his back. It was slick with horse sweat and quite heavy, and her shaking limbs all but dropped the monstrosity to the ground. She ground her teeth at her own weakness, berating herself.

_You have to remain strong. Think of the rewards that lie ahead! Mountains and adventure, new lands and a new people to meet!_

She pulled the saddle blanket from his back and draped it over her saddle, then took the reins to lead him to water, his brush in her hand. The other soldiers were gathered together and talking lowly amongst themselves as they did the same to their mounts, but she moved a ways downriver from them, not wanting to stand out. Although, she was sure she did; they had long removed their helmets and weapons, yet she remained fully armed.

"Expecting an ambush?" Her brother's voice broke her reverie, and she whipped around to find him standing near to her with the reins of his de-saddled mount.

"I…would rather care for my horse first, Captain." She said hastily in her man-voice, at his gesture at her fully armed self.

"Good; you can care for mine as well." Amrothos lifted an arm to hand her the reins and Lothíriel bristled in defiance. Care for her brother's horse as well! She would not— "Unless you want to find kindling and start a fire?"

Her face must have betrayed her abhorrence, for her brother merely tossed her the reins and turned his back. _Is he this tough on all his soldiers? _She thought to herself, twining the reins to his mount around her hand as she turned back to Firebreather. _Or have I gotten off on the wrong foot?_

Something told her it was the latter rather than the former.

_I should feel lucky though, _she thought with a small smile as she began to brush off Firebreather as Amrothos's horse took to drinking from the river, _that he doesn't recognize the Lothíriel streaked with dirt and sweat, sunburned and exhausted from a hard day's ride._

_ I will have to tease him for being so foolhardy when this is over_, she relished.

Some time later, still helmeted but shed of her bow and arrow, Lothíriel sat near the fire with the other men as they ate their dinner of meat and greens. She was exhausted, and sitting still brought light to how badly her body ached and how desperately she would pay for a quick, private dip in the whispering river to her left. She was caked with grime, and although she had washed her face, neck and hands, and had even taken off her boots to dip her feet, she was riddled with sweat and dust.

"I did not know Borigan had a son." One of the soldiers suddenly quipped loudly, and Lothíriel realized he was talking to her.

"Aye, I thought the old stable master was cursed with a brood of girls." Another replied, earning a chuckle from the men.

Lothíriel fought the narrowing of her eyes, but she was sure the black look on her face was not entirely missed in the dancing firelight. "I am his youngest." She replied, not having to work too hard to shield her voice; it was rough from disuse and the exhaustion in her bones.

"So you said."

"Is this your first journey?" Amrothos asked through a mouthful of food before he swallowed it down with cool water they had fetched from the river.

_Is it that obvious? _She decided to tell the truth and nodded. "Yes."

Amrothos nodded. "Be ready for a long ride tomorrow; we have much ground to cover."

"Yes, Captain." Lothíriel replied, effectively ending the conversation and returning the others to their meals.

Not long after that they all retired to their sleeping places, with Amrothos taking the first watch. As Lothíriel snuggled into the thin blanket covering the grass where she was supposed to sleep, she was glad she brought the extra cloak in her satchel because she was already shivering. As she tossed to her other side on the ground, she heard the sound of someone snoring already and shot a look of contempt in that general direction. She was sure she would not sleep well tonight without her feathered mattress.

_But this is all part of it! Think of how Celís will laugh when I tell her that I slept on the ground like a vagabond, groomed my own horse, and laid in sweat and dirt. _She smiled, because indeed in some strange way, she cherished all that she had encountered so far. As she closed her eyes to the hooting of an owl and the rumblings of the river, tossing once more to her other side, she willed herself to dream of the adventures to come.

* * *

With the moon high in the sky and the stars beckoning to them below, the shout of returning riders hailed Éomer from the gates of Edoras. He rode hard and steady, the life of his cousin perched precariously in the saddle before him.

He had found the éored of Théodred's riders on the return across the Riddermark, most wounded, some carrying dead riders. They had been attacked just outside the Fords of Isen not two days ago, outnumbered by enemy troops ten to one, Éomer was told. Théodred had ordered a retreat, but it had already been too late; wargs, uruk-hai, and Dunlendings had surrounded the Rohirrim on all sides. Théodred had been lost in the fray, cut down by an orc twice his size; even now, he barely clung to life.

_"He had said he wanted to lie there and hold the keep until you came, Lord Éomer, but we couldn't leave him there to die." _One of the guards had told him.

"Open the gates!" he heard the call take up through the night as his riders happened up the hill to the city of Edoras.

He rode through, Firefoot taking them swiftly and safely into the courtyard before Meduseld. The returning Rohirrim were surrounded by their own folk, and quickly Éomer was shed of the burden of his dying cousin's body.

"Fetch a healer," he barked at a passing servant, and he hurried to do as the Marshal bid. Éomer dismounted from Firefoot and cast his reins at a stable hand, who stood gaping at the lieutenant.

"B-but Marshal…" he stammered, as the tall warhorse leered down at the boy.

Éomer ignored him, not once breaking stride behind the servants that carried Théodred's body up the stairs to the Golden Hall. He was covered in dust from the Mark and the blood of his kin, but his first and foremost matter was to see that Théodred received care; Éomer did not like the sickly, grey color his cousin had turned.

"Théoden King!" Éomer bellowed, following the servants into the Hall.

The king was no where to be found, but Wormtongue slithered into the wide room, his black robe trailing behind him on the floor.

"What is this? This ruckus?" Wormtongue hissed, his ebon hair hanging oiled and limp around his gaunt face.

"Where is King Théoden?" Éomer demanded, coming to a halt before Wormtongue as Théodred was taken to his own quarters. Éowyn had darted into the hall at the sound of her brother returning, dressed in her night robe, and upon seeing Théodred she gasped, clutching at her throat.

"Théodred!" she breathed, rushing to his side. However she paused and turned back to her brother when she heard him demand, "Fetch the king! His son lay dying!"

Instead of obliging, Gríma laughed, and Éomer took a menacing step toward the vermin.

"You dare to make orders at me, Marshal? Have you forgotten I speak for the king?" Gríma's wicked brown eyes sparked in the torchlight of the Hall and everyone that was in audience suddenly grew very still. "Pray tell, what happened to our dear Théodred?"

"They were ambushed at the Fords of Isen, by uruk-hai, wargs, and Dunlendings." Éomer breathed, his chest heaving.

"Is that so?" There was a drawl to Gríma's voice, one that Éomer had long despised.

"We came on the éored as they were returning from the Fords."

"So, tell me if I am right." Wormtongue began, folding his knobbed, pale hands behind his back. "Not only did you directly defy the orders of the king by taking troops from the city of Edoras, but you just happened to come upon the heir of Rohan beaten and on the brink of death?"

Éomer's heart stilled. "What are you saying, Wormtongue?" he asked quietly.

"It is no secret that if Théodred dies you are next in line for the throne." Gríma began, and Éomer failed to notice his sister's eyes widening, or the looks of shock the others in the Hall shared with one another at Gríma's wild and preposterous implication.

"Are you saying," Éomer began slowly, his fingers twitching for Gúthwinë. "That I attacked my own flesh and blood, and stand before you now as a liar and a brigand, trying to claim a throne that still rightfully belongs to my uncle?"

The silence that descended upon Meduseld could chill the bones of the dead.

Gríma, however, remained unfazed. "What other explanation would you have me give my liege?"

"He has not, nor will he ever be your liege, because I vow to strike you from this earth henceforth!" Éomer roared, pulling Gúthwinë from his scabbard. Before he could even so much as take a step in the direction of Gríma, guards were upon him; though let it be known it took three of them to hold back the rage of Éomer.

"Éomer, son of Éomund, I hearby banish you in the name of our great King Théoden!" Gríma shrieked, lifting a gnarled finger to point in the face of the uncontrollable lieutenant. "Now get you gone!"

Éomer was pulled from the Golden Hall flailing and shouting, cursing Wormtongue and begging his uncle to hear his cries. But Théoden did not hear, and Éowyn watched as her brother was cast from Edoras, his loyal éored in his wake.

* * *

I am completely aware that some of the dialogue or actions are not the way things happened in the books or movies; I had to make some changes to fit my story. As always, thanks for reading! :]


	4. Chapter 4: Sweet Freedom

I am happy and very proud to announce that _Break Free_ is 100 pages long and I have finished chapter twelve! This puts me way ahead of schedule, which is great if school gets a little too much for me to handle; that way, I can still post on Fridays (and sometimes before!). This story has literally taken on a mind of its own, which is thrilling, and become a much larger thing than I ever could've imagined! It is a challenge, but one I am overjoyed to take on every day. I am having a blast spending countless hours mulling over plots and conversations, and am excited to share the continued journey with you all!

I can't thank all of you enough for your kind words! I love reading your reviews and strive to reply to them all, within reason. You don't know how excited I get when I see I have a new review! So thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope I don't disappoint in the chapters to come.

Also, I am still totally aware that some things that I write don't happen/aren't that way in the books/movies/don't exist at all. As I've stated before, I probably know and want to keep it that way, but would be more than happy to explain anything you have a question about! If you find a spelling error or a name is in the wrong spot (you have to admit, some names are very similar!), let me know; I am a perfectionist and though I spend hours reviewing and go over my chapters countless times, something always slips beneath the radar.

Enjoy :]

* * *

**Chapter Four: Sweet Freedom**

Morning came too soon. Lothíriel was sure she had only just gone to sleep when Celís entered her room, drawing back the curtains to allow in the morning light. However it wasn't as bright as it usually was, spilling in through the windows on the east wall of her room. Had Celís woken her in time to break her fast for once? And her maid was unusually quiet this morning; Celís typically was as loud and obnoxious as she could possibly be. And since when did robins make their home at Dol Amroth? Rolling onto her back and groaning loudly, she swore she heard the chirping of the—

Suddenly realizing she was not at home, in fact no where near it, Lothíriel bolted up from the ground onto her hands and knees. She gave a little squeal when she saw the hard earth beneath her fingers instead of her feather mattress, and she jerked her wild gaze around and found herself surrounded by trees on three sides and a bubbling river to her left. Fear struck a chord within her, bleeding into sheer panic when the remembrance of where she was and who else was around came slowly. Quickly, and with much commotion, Lothíriel struggled within the confines of her cloak to grab her helmet and thrust it onto her head, accidentally using much more force than was necessary. Her head throbbed at the contact as the last dredges of sleep leaked away from her vision, and as she blinked against the dawn light she became fully aware that seven sets of eyes were gradually coming to rest on her.

"Ahem," Lothíriel cleared her throat and clamored to her feet, tripping at the cloak tangled about her knees. "Bad dream." She rasped, adopting the voice she had become accustomed to using around the men.

She rose to her full height as the men exchanged looks between one another but readily dismissed her. Taking a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves, Lothíriel looked down at her rumpled cloak and forgotten blanket, which she had somehow during the night bunched up and used as a pillow, making her tunic and breeches wet with dew. She brought a hand to her aching head and let out another, softer groan as her body screeched in protest from a thousand places Lothíriel never knew she had. Between the ride yesterday, the hard ground she had slept on, and the very little slumber she did get, Lothíriel knew one thing was for certain: she would sleep well tonight, and looked forward to it.

With a loud yawn, she slowly became aware that all the tumult this morning and the water she consumed last night were shrieking to be released. She excused herself with a sleepy mumble and took to the forest to empty her bladder, belatedly realizing she had discarded her leather boots and was barefoot.

_It is too early for this_, she thought, stepping over the brush to hide behind the towering trees. She was too tired and much too sore to turn around to get her boots so she did without; she had gone barefoot plenty of times at Dol Amroth.

She quickly made work of her business and took a little extra time to rewrap her hair in the swatch Celís had made for her. It was harder than Celís made it seem and took her two tries to get all her hair piled and under the makeshift bonnet.

_If only I could afford a dip in the river…_ She thought wistfully, making for camp. Her hair was greased with the sweat and dirt of yesterday, but she told herself that she could not risk it. She had made it this far and would not jeopardize that feat. Surely by this time though her father was in full terror for her life; she only hoped Celís kept her promise and was avoiding him as much as possible.

The men had gathered around the fire that Amrothos was now stoking and were making quick work of their breakfast. She took her seat next to one of the soldiers and watched as they passed around a loaf of bread, tearing off huge chunks before sending it to the next person. _Are there no plates?_ She thought in horror._ What about porridge?_

Lothíriel watched in dismay as the soldier next to her held out the bread with a dirty hand. When she did not readily take it he glanced at her, his half-lidded eyes riddled with eye crust. "Well?"

Lothíriel turned her face to keep from showing her look of contempt. "I'm not hungry." She groused, which was in fact the truth after seeing how many filthy hands had touched the bread.

"At least pass it along." The man grumbled, and Lothíriel quickly did as he bid. Her motion was rapidly followed by a loud stomach growl, one she studiously ignored as she stared into the flames.

The men sat in silence and Lothíriel joined them, trying desperately to ignore the ache that had settled into her bones overnight. Characteristically grumpy in the morning, she shifted her sore rump and scowled into the flames, wishing she had tea to sip on to wake her up. _I cannot believe we are up this early. What could Amrothos hope to accomplish at this hour?_

"As soon as we are done breaking our fast we ride for Erech. I want to be on hoof before the sun rises over the trees." Her brother said, grabbing an apple from his satchel and biting into the hard rind.

Lothíriel's stomach growled even louder and she rose unsteadily, thanks to aching muscles, to fetch her own saddle bag. She took notice of Firebreather grazing on the grass near the river, and he rose his elegant head as she approached. She grunted in his direction and he returned the gesture as she shifted about her bag for an apple.

"Damnation!" she snarled, retracting her hand from her satchel. Her dagger had come loose from its sheath and in her blindness she had brushed the blade. A thin ribbon of blood arose along the line of one of her slender fingers and she scoffed as it pooled and began to drip onto the grass to accompany the morning dew.

"I'm asking whatever god is listening," she growled to herself, snatching an apple. "To please make this journey a little more pleasurable. At least for the day."

The gods above laughed among themselves and looked forward to causing chaos for the rest of the day…or however longed they deemed.

* * *

Celís couldn't hold out much longer.

Not long after Lothíriel had departed Celís had "taken ill" to her bed and asked not to be disturbed. By late afternoon on the same day, rumors had begun to spread that the Princess was missing. Guilt shamed her into staying hidden, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Imrahil himself came to question her.

_That child best be grateful for the horror she is putting me through, _Celís thought, stirring the cauldron over the fire absentmindedly. She had put together a stew for supper, which was still hours away, but she found it tasted better the longer it sat.

It was not a heartbeat later that a loud series of knocks rang on her door, causing the older woman to jump and drop her spoon with a clatter. Cursing lightly, she knelt for the apparatus and called out unsteadily, "Wh-who is it?"

"Prince Imrahil has ordered your presence at the hall." A voice called to her through the door to her quarters, and Celís ran cold with dread.

_So soon! _She moved toward the door but halted a few feet away. "I'm afraid I've caught a chill," she coughed for good measure. "Please beg the prince of my leave."

There was a moment of silence before the soldier answered, "It is about the Princess Lothíriel. I would urge you to come."

Panic gripped at her throat and Celís clenched the wooden spoon with white-knuckled hands. "I am but an old maid; I barely have the strength to speak to you now. Please, tell the Prince I will see him tomorrow."

"He will come to you then."

"No!" Celís nearly shrieked, and brought a hand to her mouth. "No please, I wouldn't want to make my lord ill. I will see him first thing tomorrow morning."

Another heartbeat of silence and then, "So be it. I will relay the message."

Celís listened with bated breath as the soldier moved away down the hall of the servants' quarters. She let out a gasping breath of air before clutching a nearby chair to support her weight.

_He has to know! By now the guard will have been found and he will know something suspicious has happened. _She knew the Prince was far from a fool, but she prayed with all of her strength that he did not put two and two together.

_At least I had enough sense to bid a wench to give the guard the wine, and paid her coin for a little extra of her time. _Celís shook her head and could not stop the blush from overtaking her cheeks at the thought. _Otherwise, my name would've surely been given up by now._

Turning back to her stew as her heart ceased to pound like the feet of an oliphaunt, Celís worried desperately what her next move should be. She couldn't lie when she faced Imrahil; why, she had helped to deliver all of his babes and he trusted her like his own kin.

There would be no more stalling, of that she was sure.

* * *

Lothíriel and company had stopped alongside the River Morthond for a prolonged lunch, of which she was grateful. Her rump was now numb from drilling into the saddle relentlessly and her legs had grown so accustomed to dangling alongside Firebreather that she no longer noticed the pain in her knees because they too were numb. However she was right back to being joyous after she had woken up, wondrously taking in all the sights and sounds she could. The men ignored her for the most part and talked amongst themselves when they weren't running their mounts into the ground to cover as much land as possible.

Firebreather was grazing near her as she soaked her feet in the water and chewed on some of the cheese they had brought and gazed out over the sparkling waters. The sun was high and bright, causing Lothíriel to sweat beneath the thick fabric of her tunics and trousers. The weight of all her protective gear bore heavily on her shoulders and she knew that later they would be sore, too. But she was happy, so deliriously happy, that she paid her ailments no mind.

_We are nearly halfway up the Blackroot. _She thought to herself, watching as a bird skimmed the surface of the river for its own lunch. _We are making excellent time._

_ Though I almost wished we weren't. This land is beautiful. _Lothíriel thought with a wistful sigh, turning her face up to the sun. Although her skin had become burnt many hours ago, the warm rays of the sun still lent soothing to her soul. It was another breathtakingly gorgeous day, boasting of a clear, blue sky and a gentle breeze to cool her skin through the tunics and chainmail. Cool water sluiced over her feet and dampened the ends of her rolled-up breeches, though she did not care. Freedom was all she knew, and how blessed and magnificent it truly was.

Firebreather wandered over to her and nudged her hand, and she laughed lightly at his antics.

"You have learned quickly where to come for treats." She reached for her nearby saddlebag and (this time looking before blindly sticking her hand in) drew out the small leather pouch filled with clumped sugar. Firebreather whickered and tossed his head, eager for the confections she readily produced.

"You spoil him." She heard a voice say, and she quickly turned her gaze over her shoulder to meet that of one of the younger guards riding with her group.

"It is just a handful of sugar." She replied as Firebreather cleaned her hand of the indulgence.

"He will become even more spiteful. Horses are meant to be tamed, not cosseted." The solider said snidely, as if he knew as much about horses as the Rohirrim.

"He is not willful with me." She said gruffly, raising a hand to pat Firebreather on the nose as he rubbed her shoulder affectionately. The two had been spending a lot of time together (seeing as how the men avoided her and she had to talk to someone!) and had formed a strong bond; there had been no more instances like yesterday, thank the gods.

"What do you call yesterday then?" The soldier asked, stepping up to the riverbank and dropping his hands to the front of his breeches.

Lothíriel frowned as he unlaced the strings of his trousers. _What on earth…_

Mute horror seized her as he reached into his breeches. "What are you doing?"

The solider looked at her in puzzlement. "Taking a piss. Why? Have you never seen one before?" His manner implemented he was being sarcastic as he grabbed lewdly at the front of his trousers, but Lothíriel was too stricken to make anything of his tone.

She jumped up from her position on the riverbank and in her haste to move away, spooked Firebreather. The horse pranced back and the movement caused Lothíriel to startle even further, making her unsteady in the shallow waters. With a shrill shriek and flailing arms, she slipped on the soft mud beneath her feet and fell hard onto her bottom, water soaking through her breeches and into her crimson tunic.

The solider stood not five feet from her, indeed pissing into the streaming Morthond, and now laughing uproariously. The other soldiers were guffawing as well, looking over to where she sat in the water, sputtering in her helmet and wiping water from her face. She was too red from embarrassment to meet anyone's eyes, so instead focused on clamoring to her feet. The mud was traitorous to her and she slipped and fell to her hands and knees on the riverbank. With gritted teeth and trying desperately to ignore the sounds of hilarity from all around her, she grabbed a hold of the grass and pulled herself onto steady land, feeling like an absolute fool.

"A soldier from Dol Amroth not akin to the water?" the eye-crust man from this morning remarked loudly. "Now I have seen it all."

Lothíriel ignored him and sat down heavily in the grass, wiping her hands on the fronds before grabbing her boots. Firebreather came up and nudged her shoulder from behind and she shot a glare over at him. He ducked his head as if contrite, and nudged her again before nipping at her gently.

"Go away," she hissed as the soldier at the water rejoined the others. "You have caused enough trouble."

Firebreather snorted, but Lothíriel could've sworn she saw amusement dance through his brown eyes. She used his bridle to help her stand, her back screaming in pain, and moved back cautiously toward the water to fetch her satchel.

"Watch out, fair maiden— I mean, loyal soldier." She heard the crusty-eyed man call to her. She knew he made a reference to her shrill scream of terror by the way laughs accompanied the barb. "The water may jump out at you."

_If only he knew who he was really speaking to, _Lothíriel thought hotly with a scowl that blazed fury as she approached Firebreather to attach her bag to his saddle. _Then who would be laughing?_

* * *

The second night Éomer and his éored spent on the fields of the Mark was riddled with howling winds and a rain pounding so thick that the fires they built failed to stay lit. Huddled together in small groups his men still bristled with cold, and he wished he had more to offer them than the cover of rocks and thickets of tall grass. They refused to leave his side no matter how many times he had begged them. And so close together they lay, trying to forget about the cold biting into their skin and the moonless night above.

_I will kill him, _Éomer vowed for the hundredth time, pulling his cloak over his head as the rain pelted unmercifully. _I will wash the earth of his filth_.

A warg howled in the distance, rousing more than one nervous nicker from the horses sheltered nearby. They were just as miserable as their riders and equally as loyal; no matter how much they wanted to bolt they remained near their masters.

_How long can we last like this? _Éomer thought, heaving a sigh bred from exhaustion. _I dare not take my men into Fangorn, for evil lurks there, and it sits too close to the Fords. But where else do I lead my men?_

Éomer despised the thought of asking for assistance, but he was no fool. He knew he didn't have long before he had to formulate some sort of a plan; already his men grew restless. They had left on a whim, with little food and even less of a purpose. Moving west would put him in the jaws of his enemy, north would take him to the elves and their cold rebuttal, east would take him straight to Mordor, and south would lead him into the realm of Gondor.

_Maybe there I can find some sense for my uncle. _He thought angrily as the bay of a warg pealed again, this time closer.

The horses stirred violently under their cover of rocks and Éomer peeked out from under his cloak at the commotion. A few of the men had gotten up to calm the beasts, and since he knew sleep was far from his mind he arose as well. He settled his already soaked cloak over his head and started to wade through the bodies toward the horses, some of who were rearing and wild-eyed.

"Take the—"

The singing of an arrow broke the night, and with it came the trailing of flame. Éomer stumbled back as the weapon rooted to the ground to his left and the shrill cry of an orc rent the night air. He whipped around and there, perched on the rock under which he had just been trying to sleep, stood a warg and his counterpart, glaring through the night at him.

"Eorlingas!" Éomer bellowed, drawing the sword he always kept on his being. The warg snarled as the orc rumbled out a cry, and Éomer watched in grim fascination as the field beyond the lone rider lit up with flaming arrows.

The Rohirrim were already clamoring to their feet, drawing weapons and forming ranks. The orc pointed his sword at the Marshal and launched at him, and Éomer let out a cry of rage as he charged his enemy with equal ardor.

The sun would rise red on the morrow.

* * *

Sleep was taken from her as quickly as it had come, but a lot less gently. Lothíriel grumbled, wishing she had imagined the foot in her ribs, but when the nudge came again this time more adamant, she rolled onto her back and glared at the retreating back of the soldier.

"Your turn for watch duty."

Lothíriel stuck her tongue out at the guard and reached for her helmet as he grabbed his blanket and took a patch of earth to call his bed for the evening. She fixed the appendage on her head and stood on shaky legs, stretching her arms high over her head.

_If there were a moon tonight, surely you could not see it. _She thought, reaching for her bow and quiver. She strung them upon her back and then dug another apple out of her bag; she had two left now. _The clouds are many._

She drew close to the river and took up the rock the previous guard had vacated, settling into a smooth groove. She bit into her apple and turned her face to the sky, smiling when the passing of the clouds allowed the stars to twinkle down at her.

_I wonder what father is doing, if he has figured it out yet. _He was a very intelligent man, but she hoped with every ounce of her being that he remained obtuse in this matter. _And poor Celís, fraught with worry…_

Lothíriel turned her eyes to the seven slumbering figures lying in the grass, sighing wistfully at the thought of joining them. She could pick out Amrothos with her eyes closed if she had to; his snores were loud enough to rouse all of Mordor. The others formed a protective circle around him, even the flag-bearer, and she knew if there were any danger her brother would be well protected. They had been lucky so far; they had encountered not one single being worthy of drawing their weapons.

She smiled then, drawing her legs beneath her as she chewed on her apple. What an adventure it had been so far! Besides the cumbersome bumbles she had met and could've surely done without, Lothíriel was having the absolute time of her life. She had free reign of a true warhorse, was living off of the land and the food she carried, and _did not have to answer to anyone!_ She didn't have to attend court on Wednesdays or stitch into the twilight. She could go barefoot in the river and did not have to worry about showing too much skin. She was not bothered by the tedious lacing of the intricate gowns her father loved to spoil her with; why, she hadn't even changed clothes in two days! She wasn't harbored with the thoughts of suitors and having to choose one, didn't find herself blanketed by her father and his mother-hen tendencies, and was overjoyed to be out of Elphir's scrutinizing gaze!

Of course, she did miss the taste of salted pork and the delicate, fruity wine served with her dinner. She missed her beautiful mare Seawind and hoped she would not be too cross with her when she returned. Lothíriel even missed the castle gossip Celís brought to her each evening as she helped Lothíriel ready for bed. But as she and the other soldiers had settled into a routine more and more she grew to love every step of her journey. Why, she didn't even mind wiping herself clean with the leaves of the forest! She had to be careful though; poisonous plants could be deceiving and she shuddered at the thought of the burn that would follow her negligence.

_I will have a lot of making up to father to do_, she mused with a small, quiet laugh. _Maybe I will purchase a trinket for him as well._

She only had an hour on watch duty before she could return to her own space of grass, and if she counted the stars in the sky it would go quickly. Though the clouds rolled thick and black across the sky, every once in a while a smattering of stars appeared. She turned her grey gaze up to their twinkling and leaned back on a single hand as she took another bite of her apple.

_I wonder if he is looking at the stars, speculating on where I am. _She tilted her head to the side to listen to a night lark call softly through the trees. _Or who else is out there under this night sky?_

* * *

Over the next two days they made their way up the Blackroot, through Erech, and down the mountain pass leading to Edoras. They met no resistance along the way and on the fifth day broke free of the mountains and into the realm of Rohan. Lothíriel was glad to be free of the cloistering by the Ered Nimrais; she longed for open fields and fresh air.

And behold! The wonderment that stole onto her features at her first look of Rohan robbed the breath from her body. The wind whipped her form, even threatened to lift the already precarious helmet from her head. Joy bubbled up from her throat, creating a smile on her face, before bursting forth in a laugh. Beautiful rolling hills of the greenest grass greeted her party, sprung with thick thickets of yellow straw here and there. For as far as the eye could see the land went, interspersed with juts of rock, some as big as Firebreather, ten Firebreathers! The sun shone down bright and cheerful, not a cloud in the blue sky.

"Be on the watch," Amrothos called over his shoulder to his riders. "Reports of orcs in this area have increased greatly. We cannot afford to be caught off our guard."

The men shifted restlessly in their saddles and the sudden euphoria Lothíriel had felt slipped away into cautiousness, buffered with a slight sense of muted fear. They had been fortunate thus far; too much so. She only hoped they reached Meduseld before their luck turned.

"If we make haste we can reach Edoras before nightfall." Amrothos shouted, turning in his saddle once more. "Let us ride!"

The small band of soldiers urged their mounts into a canter and Lothíriel pressed Firebreather to do the same. With an excited leap he joined his brethren and soon enough the riders were crossing the Riddermark with all the haste of the wind whipping at their backs.

Lothíriel caught herself smiling though danger could be looming on the horizon, relishing in the air brushing her sunburned face and aching hands. She cherished every twinge, could not have been happier. Why, this had been her best idea to date! Even if her father had sent out riders days ago (because surely Celís had broken by now), he would not catch her and the swift moving party!

A laugh again stole her. _This swan has broken free from her cage! _She thought, coercing Firebreather into a gallop as the other soldiers did the same. _And what a beautiful life that resides outside the bars it is!_

They rode hard until well into mid-afternoon and stopped only briefly to rest the horses. Water was scarce in these parts, but Amrothos was sure they would reach Edoras before the sun set. Lothíriel was feeding Firebreather her last apple when the call to mount was heard, and she eagerly took to the saddle as Firebreather inhaled his treat.

"All right, my trusty steed," she patted his neck and Firebreather stomped his approval at her boastful words. "Take me swiftly unto the Golden Hall. We are to see the mighty Rohirrim!"

With an impatient leap Firebreather took off, and the wind concealed Lothíriel's laughter as she darted before the others. It was not long before they caught up and she ignored the look of disapproval her brother threw her way. Even he had fallen for her ruse this long! She constantly relished the day when she would reveal herself, picturing the perfect look of horror on his face. To soften the blow ever so slightly that was sure to come, she pulled on the reins of Firebreather and let her brother take the lead, and then the others, dropping into her customary position at the back of the company.

The steeds ate up the land with their long, powerful strides, dodging thickets and never stumbling once on the rocks. They passed beneath shadows of monoliths, giant groups of stone, and as they rounded one Lothíriel thought the wind made a shrill sound, one unlike she had ever heard. Was it a whistle? _No, a horn was it…?_

The lingering thought whispered away as, before her very eyes, she saw a large group of riders rounding the hill before them, heading straight in their direction. Amrothos suddenly held up a fist and their company pulled their mounts to a sudden stop.

"Raise the flag." She heard Amrothos tell the flag-bearer, and he did as ordered, proudly showing the white swan against a stark black background for the horse-riders to see.

They did not slow, and Firebreather tossed his head as Lothíriel shifted nervously in her saddle. Who were these mysteriously riders? Was it the Rohirrim? Maybe even Prince Théodred himself? They were in the West Mark, lands which he was Marshal of…

With bated breath and a pounding heart, Lothíriel watched as indeed the Rohirrim created a semi-circle around her small band of riders. Excitement rushed through her veins, heady and intoxicating, and she strained to sit taller in her saddle as a single rider in a white-plumed helmet broke free of the pack, toting a spear in one hand and a sword at his hip.

"What business do you have in the Mark?" his voice was deep and commanding; the sound caused goose pimples to run along her flesh. He sat tall in his saddle, Lothíriel took note, and sported a short duo of beard and moustache made up of the same dirty blonde hair that flowed like rivulets over his shoulders and down his back. He was dressed in brown leather armor from head to toe, and carried a wooden shield on one side of his stamping mount.

"I am Amrothos, son of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. We bring news from Gondor and wish to speak to Théoden King." Her brother said proudly, his shoulders straight and square.

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend or foe; whatever news you bring would fall on deaf ears." The rider replied, the sour notes in his voice not lost on her ears.

"What is this you speak of?"

"He is under the spell of Saruman, by effort of Gríma Wormtongue." The rider spat, his horse tossing its black head in annoyed agreement. "He does not even recognize his own kin.

"I am Éomer, son of Éomund, nephew to the great King Théoden."

_Éomer… _She thought, grey eyes narrowing on her subject. _Marshal of the East Emnet. Here, in the West?_

Lothíriel was momentarily distracted by the howling of the wind; how it roared in these lands! Firebreather sidled restlessly beneath her and she absentmindedly reached forward to stroke his neck.

"Wormtongue banished the Marshal four days ago, as he speaks with the voice of the king." Another man rode up then, dressed in the same manner of his lieutenant, and Lothíriel took note of the way the former man cast his angry gaze to the ground. "We had no choice but to leave Edoras."

"We were attacked two nights ago by a pack of orcs. We managed to escape, taking a number of them to their graves in the process, but they hunt us now." Éomer spoke up once more, his gruff voice doused in fury. "We will accompany you to the lands surrounding Edoras so you may carry your message in safety, but no more."

As her brother thanked the Marshal, Lothíriel tilted her head to the side, a frown marring her brows. Was it always this noisy in the Mark? She was sure the sky rumbled now, though she saw no sign of rain for miles on either side of her as she looked left, and then right…

Her eyes widened as they landed on a single warg with an orc on his back, a spear in his hand. She let out a blood-curdling scream as the warg rider launched at her from his perch on a rock, and all hell broke loose around her as more joined the sudden mêlée. She jerked hard on Firebreather's reins and the warhorse reared, sending her sliding from his back just as the warg collided with her steed. She felt the breath leave her as her fragile body was driven into the ground by the heavy paws of the warg and they went tumbling, her helmet and head sheath ripped roughly from her head. Firebreather landed not two paces from her, snarling and flailing his legs to gain his feet. Lothíriel tried desperately to do the same as she came to a halt without the oppressive weight of the warg above her, but her body refused to cooperate. She heard the growls of the warg as it gained its own feet and rounded to advance on her, but it took all the strength in her to lift her head and peer through the locks of her disheveled hair to meet his snarling jowls.

The orc on its back laughed riotously as chaos ensued around her, and in that moment all vigor fled her body and Lothíriel collapsed, her world turning to darkness.


	5. Chapter 5: Mayhem at Meduseld

In observance of Labor Day and the fact that I was feeling gracious, happy chapter five! :] Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five: Mayhem at Meduseld**

Amrothos heard that all too familiar scream and his heart seized to beat. He would recognize that shriek anywhere, had even caused it to sound in jest from time to time. He jerked the reins of his horse toward the sound, but nothing in his twenty-five years of living could have prepared him for the sight that lay before him.

"Lothíriel." Her name, whispered like an unheard prayer, left his lips as fear and rage clawed at his throat. "_Lothíriel!_" Her name ruptured from his vocal chords on a shattered scream, spittle flying as his horse reared, sensing his dread.

* * *

Éomer heard Amrothos's garbled bellow clear across the field and pulled his own horse to turn at the forlorn sound. His eyes were met with a striking sight: there was a lady lying on the field of battle. Éomer was struck momentarily dumbfounded. _A lady?_ Who was she? _How did she get _here? He watched with growing horror as Amrothos urged his mount toward her, but the steed was too spooked by his bedraggled yells and the wargs and orcs charging the field to cooperate.

Pulling from his years of battle experience and the dredges of his honor, Éomer pulled Firefoot's reins to turn toward the lady who lay unmoving and unresponsive to what was going on around her, her ebony hair strewn like lifeblood around her head. There was a warg advancing on her, its rider's eyes glinting with malice and lewd hope.

"To the lady!" Éomer bellowed to his riders.

They took up the call with him, at once changing direction.

"To the lady!"

* * *

Amrothos couldn't get his mount under control. He was desperate to get to Lothiriel, pulling at the reins, kicking his heels into the dapple-grey frantically. He then heard a voice that changed the tide of battle completely; Éomer took up the cry for Lothíriel and the battle shifted with only one goal in mind: to get to her fallen body at all costs. He struggled with the reins to his warhorse as riders closed in from all sides as much as they could amidst a battle of orcs and wargs. Arrows were whizzing by, sending shafts of wind ruffling his tunic to remind him how real this situation had become and how much danger his beloved sister was really in. Never mind the warg looming ever closer to her.

_How did she even come to be here?_

Eyes wild, his stallion kept stamping, moving forth and retreating, not used to the way his rider was behaving. Amrothos was sure he wasn't breathing as he watched Éomer bolt past him on his ebony mount, blonde hair trailing behind him like some sort of beacon of hope.

_If he could only reach Little Loth in time…_

The warg chose that moment to pounce.

Amrothos watched in sheer, blinding dread as the warg snagged Lothíriel's boot with a mouth full of razor sharp, bloodied teeth. She didn't move, didn't even react to having jagged bits of tooth struck into her soft flesh. Amrothos choked on a sob of grief, his mind springing to the absolute worst ideation there could be.

_Does my sister lay dead? Did the fall…?_

Suddenly man and horse collided with warg and the vile beast and his caretaker went sprawling on the ground as Éomer rounded his horse to take a defensive position before Lothíriel. Three more of his riders quickly joined him while the warg regained its footing, shaking off dirt whilst its rider forced him to turn and face their impending doom.

There was an exchange of words that Amrothos couldn't hear over the sound of battle, but whatever was said enraged Éomer enough to make the horsemaster and his comrades charge the beast. Four to one it was a small battle easy won, and Amrothos had gained enough control over his warhorse to make for his fallen sister.

"Lothíriel—!"

A sudden burning pain bit into his left arm and his hold on the reins slackened at the sensation. He looked down to see an arrow protruding from just above his elbow, sending shards of white hot pain to lance through his veins. Angrily, scared more for Lothíriel's life than his own, he ignored the injury and grabbed the reins of his mount to urge him forth with renewed vigor.

_She cannot be dead!_

* * *

Éomer pulled himself away from his riders, for they had extricated the orc and his accompanying warg and were staving off the others to form a protective ring around the fallen woman. Éomer's task now was to get the lady to safety.

His gaze took him to Amrothos first, who was making his way through orcs both living and dead to get to the woman. Éomer drew his eyes back to her, where she lay unmoving and now bleeding from one of her feet…and surrounded by a pair of orcs who had managed to slip past his busy riders.

Éomer urged Firefoot into motion and reached behind him for his spear. In one clean maneuver his spear went sailing through the air and pinned one orc dead to the ground. The other had enough time to look up and see the arc of Gúthwinë before it lost its head.

Éomer turned Firefoot around and bent low to sweep the lady off the ground. She was tall but slight, and he easily pulled her into his lap. He chanced a quick glance down at her to find her pale, streaked with blood and dirt.

_And beautiful even so…_

That absurd thought flitted through his mind, leaving as quickly as it came as Amrothos rode up, his horse neighing and prancing.

"My sister… Does my sister live?" he asked with a brittle voice, his eyes betraying the deep-seated fear that was no doubt clutching his heart.

_Sister? This is the Princess Lothíriel? _Éomer looked down at the woman again, her black hair draped over his arm and tangled with the byproducts of battle. "Your sister?"

"Does she live!" Amrothos shouted, causing his mount to rear slightly.

The screeching of wargs and dying screams of orcs rang loud in his ears, reminding Éomer they were in the midst of battle. Taking the woman in his arms he passed her to Amrothos, only now noticing the arrow in his arm. He met the eyes of the man before him after a telling glance at the wound, but Amrothos's resolve was steadfast and he refused to acknowledge the arrow in his flesh.

"Ride hard for Edoras." Éomer shouted over the din of clashing swords and wooden shields. "Do not stop. For anything. We will see that you make it off the battlefield."

* * *

Amrothos nodded, tightening his grip on Lothíriel, striving to ignore the arrow protruding from his arm. Getting his sister to safety was by far the only thing that mattered at this point.

He just hoped with whatever grace the gods had granted him that she was still alive.

"Heyah!" He cried, digging his heels into his steed. His mount sprang forward and he clutched Lothíriel tightly to his chest as her body lolled, threatening to spill to the ground.

Fear choked him, and he held her tighter as Éomer cleared a path for them through the tides of the battle. In no more than five breaths they had disengaged from the bedlam and Éomer hailed members of his own éored to his side.

"See to it they make it to Edoras." Éomer told the men, and the ten that had gathered to him nodded. Amrothos took notice of how their eyes strayed to his sister and widened, and then exchanged looks of bewilderment with one another.

"Your first duty is to the princess; makes sure she arrives safe. Now ride!"

The Rohirrim charged into action, their mounts snarling and snapping. Amrothos cast a nod of sincere gratitude at Éomer and he couldn't help but notice how his own brown eyes flickered to Lothíriel, withered in his arms.

"Make haste, Captain."

Amrothos's mount bolted across the field then, charged by the others around him. Amrothos held on not for his dear life but his sister's. And with every hoofbeat that thundered beneath him he sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen that she would make the ride to Edoras.

* * *

Amrothos rode into Edoras crying out for aide, his dapple grey foaming around the neck and wheezing with exhaustion. He, followed by the members of Éomer's éored who had accompanied him, clattered into the courtyard before the Golden Hall beckoned by shouts of alarm. Gasping for air, he pulled his mount to a stop before the steps of Meduseld and allowed a stable hand to take the reins. He looked up the stone stairs leading to the Hall to find Théoden King staring down in horror at their bloodied bunch, flanked by a golden-haired goddess on his right and…

_No. My eyes deceive me._

"Mithrandir." Amrothos breathed as the White Wizard hurried down the steps, ivory robes billowing around him.

"What has happened?" Gandalf asked, raising his arms to take Lothíriel into them. Bewildered into speechlessness, Amrothos could only watch as the King of Rohan and the golden goddess descended the stairs as well, and in their wake…

_ It cannot be!_

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Amrothos was in shock. The heir to the throne of Gondor? Here? Following quickly behind him to help with the wounded was a tall, pale elf and…was that…a _dwarf?_

"Speak!" Gandalf chastised.

"We met them as they were riding across the Mark." One of the éored spoke, and Amrothos noticed belatedly that he had been the one beside Éomer that had spoken to him before they had been attacked. "We were attacked by warg riders."

Gandalf cradled Lothíriel in his arms and turned to ascend the steps. Amrothos hurried to follow, but forgot about the arrow protruding from his arm. When he slipped from the saddle due to his slacked grip Théoden caught him, steadying him to his feet.

"You are Amrothos, son of Imrahil." Théoden said and Amrothos nodded. _He does not look to be under any spell…_

"Éothain, where is Éomer?" Théoden suddenly asked, releasing Amrothos who hurried to follow Gandalf up the stairs to the Golden Hall.

"He stayed behind to rid the orcs from the Mark." Éothain responded, grabbing the reins of another horse to help lead them to the stables.

Théoden stared after Éothain and decided he would approach that matter at a later time; right now he had order to make of the bloodied chaos filling his hall.

* * *

After order had been restored and the worst of the wounded had been tended to, Amrothos met with Théoden and Gandalf as well as a motley of others in Meduseld. Night had fallen, but in its place a thick tension rose, almost stifling those in the Golden Hall. Present were the aforementioned three as well as Aragorn son of Arathorn, the elf Amrothos came to know as Legolas, and the dwarf Gimli son of Glóin! Part of the mighty Fellowship of the Ring, here, in Edoras! The golden goddess, who Amrothos found was the niece to King Théoden named Éowyn, was not present; she was tending to his sister who was very much alive, just very unconscious. A smattering of guards, including Éothain, were also present.

"What were you doing crossing the Mark?" Théoden finally had the chance to ask Amrothos.

Amrothos lifted his eyes from the healer working on the wound marring his arm to meet the penetrating stare of the King of Rohan. "We bring word from Dol Amroth. Attacks from the east have increased in number. Orcs pillaging, pilfering, and killing our people. My father sent my brothers and I to warn our neighbors of the deeds, though it seems you have had your share of the violence already."

"And your sister? What is the Princess Lothíriel doing in your company?"

"I did not know she rode with us." At his admonishment numerous sets of eyes widened, and Amrothos did not miss the amused albeit shocked glance Legolas and Gimli shared.

"But that is a matter for me and my kin to sort out. Tell me what is going on here." Amrothos grimaced as the wizened healer began to put a poultice on his laceration. It was not a deep wound, but still stung badly enough. "Last I heard you were under some sort of spell by Gríma Wormtongue."

At the mention of that filthy name Théoden's eyes darkened and he began to pace before the dais housing his throne. "Those are bitter days best remembered, lest I forget the suffering I have caused those around me." he said softly, and his gaze led Amrothos to look at Gandalf who stood a little straighter, grasping his staff with both hands.

"If it weren't for the unlikely timing of Gandalf the White, you would not have been welcomed so easily."

Amrothos nodded at Mithrandir who smiled slightly back, before turning his gaze back to Théoden.

The White Wizard spoke then. "All we have encountered so far is but a taste of the terror Saruman will inflict upon Middle Earth. Saruman has focused his gaze on Rohan and vowed to rid them of the earth before moving onto destroy the other leagues of men."

"Éomer still rides the Mark; he made sure we got to Edoras unscathed. Call him to you and let us ride out to meet Saruman's army so they do not gain anymore ground." Amrothos said.

"Your nephew is loyal to you. He and his men will return and fight for their king." Aragorn agreed. "You only need to stand and fight as well."

"No one knows where Éomer is; he could be hundreds of miles from here by now." Théoden spat, his pacing becoming rigid with incense. "No, I will not risk open war and bring death and destruction upon my people and lands anymore than has already been done."

"The Fellowship has been broken, but it is not lost. There is still hope that the Ring of Power will reach the fires of Mordor. We can win this war, Théoden, because it is a war whether you want to admit it or not." Silence fell and more than one gaze traveled to Aragorn. He had Théoden pinned with a telling look to his bright blue eyes.

"And what would you have me do, Ranger?" The sneer accompanying Théoden's words was not missed and more than one hand gripped the hilt of a weapon in defense against the slight toward the heir of Gondor. "I have decided we shall take refuge at Helm's Deep."

"Helm's Deep?" Gandalf asked, baffled.

Éothain spoke up then. "My liege, Théodred…"

"Do not speak of my son to me!" Théoden roared at Éothain, who bowed his head in submission. "He lies dead, well before his time, and I will have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my days!"

"Yes, and at the Fords of Isen, which is a half day's ride from Isengard and just as close to where you want to lead your people." Aragorn remarked, shaking his head. "That is foolhardy."

Théoden rounded on Aragorn and Amrothos watched as Legolas took a step toward the king, his hand moving to his belt where a dagger was sheathed. The dwarf moved as well, spinning the barrel of his axe in his hands.

"I will not be intimidated by a man who is too afraid to claim what is rightfully his. At least I take care of my own." Théoden snarled, raking Aragorn with a curl to his lips. "We ride for Helm's Deep in two days time."

Théoden left the room then, his stride stiff and angry. A door slammed, marking his disapproval at the conversation that had taken place, and Amrothos strode forward to address Aragorn.

"Can he not see his plan is reckless? Leading women and children right into the middle of the fray?"

"They flee when they should fight." Gimli growled, slamming the butt of his axe against the stone floor in his own show of displeasure. "What good is a king who will not stand against his enemies?"

"He thinks the keep will shelter them; it has proved indestructible in the past. You cannot fault him for wanting to protect his people." Aragorn replied.

"Bah," was how Gimli responded.

"He thinks he's leading them to safety, yet Théoden is walking into a trap; did he think that Gríma would go quietly? No, what is more likely is that the filth has spilled all he knows to his master Saruman." Gandalf said with a shake of his head. "What they will get at Helm's Deep is a massacre instead of refuge; there is no way he will defeat an army of ten thousand with barely half that number."

"The survival of Rohan is looking bleak." Amrothos remarked. "And in turn Gondor. What of the rest of Middle Earth if the great realms of Men fall?"

Aragorn and Gandalf shared a look of weariness. "This army from Isengard is no trivial matter, Gandalf."

The silence stretched out for a prolonged period before Gandalf deemed to reach some sort of internal agreement. He sighed deeply and shook his head, mumbling to himself, "Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth and now I have no time." He lifted his gaze back to Aragorn and said, very cryptically to Amrothos's ears, "With luck, my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."

Gandalf smiled then and left without another word, though he did stop and turn in a flutter of white robes.

"Ah, your sister wakes! Go to her, for she will have a lot to say."

Amrothos did not ask how Mithrandir knew such, nor did he question the sparkle in his eye that accompanied the smile quickly hidden as he departed their presence.

* * *

Lothíriel had the absolute worst headache in the entire world. The very light made her eyelids feel like they were being peeled back with prongs and her stomach sang of nausea as she came to being. With a groan that sounded coarse to her own ears she tired to lift an arm to her forehead to shield her face only to find that it weighed more than a horse.

"Easy. Rest now." A gentle feminine voice spoke to her, seeming to come from far away. "You have much recovering to do."

It was a voice that was unfamiliar to her and Lothíriel struggled to determine her surroundings without the aide of her eyes. The ground beneath her was soft and warm; perhaps she was on a mattress of some sort? The air was light and tepid and she could hear the sounds of a fire crackling from a hearth nearby. She blinked against the pain and fluttered open her eyes, finding the soft light of a single candle to be another source of illumination. She felt the smooth linen of a gown surrounding her body, as well as the comfort of many pillows and a thick coverlet.

Lothíriel groaned as a wave of nausea overtook her, and she rolled onto her side clutching her stomach. Every move she made sliced through her like a dirk and she felt tears burn in her eyes at the unknown sensations overtaking her senses.

"What has happened to me?" she whispered, her stomach threatening to heave.

"You were attacked by orcs." The kind voice explained and Lothíriel then felt a hand lay gently on her head. "Do you not remember?"

As she fought back the heaves Lothíriel tried to recall the last thing she had seen and suddenly wished she hadn't. She had been in the fields of the Riddermark and had just been happened upon by a man and his riders…

"There was a man… He called himself Éomer, son of Éomund." She struggled to recall.

"Yes, Éomer is my brother. He is the one that saved you from the battle." The voice said gently. "You are very lucky to be alive."

_And then it is to Éomer I owe my life, _she thought. "Does he live?"

There was a slight pause before the voice said softly, "He does, but he has been banished from Edoras by Gríma Wormtongue. Now that my uncle is free from his spell he longs for Éomer to come back, but we do not know where he is."

Lothíriel knew not of this Wormtongue or spell that the woman spoke of, but stored the knowledge away for later. "From afar I thought it had been Prince Théodred, for he is Marshal of the West Mark, no?"

The hand soothing her stilled ever so slightly and the voice sounded pained as it responded, "He is no more."

"I am sorry." Pain gripped at Lothíriel, both intrinsically and not, but she forced herself to continue. "Éomer stopped my brother to talk to us; I wasn't listening, I was distracted… The wind was howling and then…" Realization crashed into her and Lothíriel began to heave. There was nothing for her to bring up and so her body merely rippled painfully at the memory. The chassis belonging to the gentle voice moved to her aide, pulling her hair away from her face with one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

It hadn't been the wind howling. It had been a warg.

"I saw him, a warg rider." Lothíriel whispered as fear twisted her insides. "He charged at me, knocked me from my horse. Oh Firebreather…" Tears leaked out from under long lashes. "I hope he is all right…"

"Rest easy, do not get worked up so. Everyone made it back safe and you are in one piece, just badly battered."

Lothíriel lay down on the bed and wept silently, curled into a tight ball. The hand stroked her back in silence, merely lending a consoling gesture, before Lothíriel was able to collect herself and wipe her face. She struggled to sit up against the pain and sorrow within her, limbs shaking unsteadily.

"I do apologize." She sniffed, very unladylike.

"You have been through a lot, I understand." The woman said kindly. Lothíriel exchanged a small smile with her and felt a sudden ease soothe her emotions.

The woman was pale; it was not a sickly pale, but a beautiful porcelain. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves to a trim waist, which in turn led to long, lean legs that peeked out from underneath a forest green gown. Her face was round and presented a pair of wide, blue eyes which accented thin, pink lips. She held an aura of comfort and safety about her, one that made Lothíriel relax even more so.

"I am crying all over your furniture and do not even know your name." Lothíriel managed a small laugh, though it pained her to do so. "Though I can quite guess it if you are the sister to Lord Éomer."

"I am Éowyn, lady of this castle."

"And niece to King Théoden." Lothíriel looked down at herself, suddenly embarrassed. She had been washed lightly yes, but she could smell the stench of dirt and grime on her skin and she was sure her hair was a knotted, oiled, wind-tangled mess. She wore only a night shift and the limbs that peeked out from underneath the linen were bruised and sported angry, red scratches.

"I do apologize; I fear I've gotten myself into a horrible mess." Lothíriel said dismally, the weight of the situation resting heavily upon her shoulders very suddenly. "I am Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." _Soon to be dead._ "I'm assuming we've reached Rohan?"

"Yes, and I cannot wait to hear the story you have to tell." Laughter danced in Éowyn's eyes as she pulled herself from the bed. "From what I've heard your brother did not know you were in his company. That marks the beginning of a real adventure."

Lothíriel's head chose that exact moment to pound unmercifully at her temple. Guilt and dread filled her all at once and she could not say that she shared Éowyn's excitement. _Amrothos… He will be enraged. Not to mention what poor Celís is enduring. And father…_

"A very stupid adventure." Lothíriel remarked, watching as Éowyn stepped over the threshold of the now open door and beckoned a servant to her.

"A bath for the lady." She ordered, and the servant curtseyed before moving to obey. Éowyn turned back to Lothíriel with shining eyes. "I might have a gown that would fit you, but you are very tall. We seem to be the same shape though. I will fetch you one and be right back. After your bath, you will have to tell me of your journey; I know you would beg of me to wait until the morrow when the sun is up, but I do not think I could."

Lothíriel had to smile; Éowyn had proved to be absolutely delightful and a pillar of strength in such a short time and she suddenly found herself looking forward to sharing her story. Though she was exhausted and weary down to the very marrow of her bones, Lothíriel found herself intrinsically reveling in the memory of the exhilaration of her journey thus far.

"I will see you then."

Éowyn ducked into a quick curtsy and then closed the door behind her, allowing Lothíriel to rise from the bed at her leisure. She moved slowly to perch on the end of the piece and dangled her feet above the wooden floor before placing them on the cool planks. Her right foot was bandaged and ached dully, but it did not feel weak or sear with pain. She would have to ask Éowyn what had happened there because the memory eluded her.

She lifted her head to look about the room, inspecting the finely finished wooden walls, the impressively tall ceiling, and the hearth big enough for her to stand in jumping with yellow and orange flames. Tapestries lined the walls where windows did not display the night sky, stars blinking down from their heavenly home. The bed she was in was a simple piece, but boasted of fine white linens and had a matching table where the candle rested, almost down to the quick.

Lothíriel bowed her head and closed her eyes, her headache throbbing at both temples now. The nausea had subsided enough for her to stand, but at the loud knock on her borrowed chamber door it bubbled up from her stomach, threatening to consume her once more.

"Enter," she begged, if only for solace from the painful hammering of her head.

She expected to hear the servants wheeling in a tub for a bath, but instead she heard the heavy pounding of boots crossing the floor. She lifted her head quickly and instantly regretted the movement for two reasons:

It caused her head to explode with agonizing pain.

She was forced to meet the flashing eyes of her brother Amrothos and all of his mighty ferocity.


	6. Chapter 6: Make Every Moment Count

**Chapter Six: Make Every Moment Count**

"Oh Amrothos…"

Her brother's stone-grey eyes blazed from one emotion to the next: ire, hurt, shock, dread, and once again ire, before settling on sheer and unabashed relief.

"Lothíriel," he collected her into his arms, smashing her frame into his hard chest. Lothíriel didn't even feel the pain that accompanied the movement because her guilt was so great. "I thought you were lost…"

"Amrothos…"

She pulled her arms to twine under his own and wrap about his waist, burrowing her face in his clean tunic. She began to weep again, her fingers wrapping around the linen tightly albeit shakily. The emotions that had been held at bay before broke through the dam of her reserve and her knees suddenly gave out. Amrothos transferred her to the bed and sat down beside her, cradling her in his arms and rocking her gently.

"What were you thinking?" he chastised softly. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"You cannot possibly begin to understand." Lothíriel bit out, her voice hard and full of indignation.

"Understand what?" Amrothos asked, pulling her back with thick hands wrapped around her shoulders. "Loth, you almost got yourself killed."

"I think I know that well enough!" Lothíriel ripped herself away from Amrothos and cradled her head in her hands as her headache screamed shrilly. "I do not need to be reminded."

"Then can you please explain to me your way of thinking, because I dare say I understand what would drive you to do something so completely and utterly stupid! By the gods, I should've known! How could I not have recognized my own sister?" Amrothos kept going much to Lothíriel's absolute irritation. "I should've taken notice of the way your clothing was too big or your helmet didn't fit, always shadowing your face. How you always wore it, even around the fire! Who wears their helmet when it's not needed in the dastardly heat of summer? Even the way you always stood off from the others should've been a dead giveaway! How could I have been so blind?"

At once the door to the chamber opened and in strode Éowyn, directing two servants who were pushing a wooden tub. As she stood by to let them pass she took note of Amrothos, and instead of curtsying to him and excusing herself to give them privacy Lothíriel watched as she placed her hands firmly on her hips and adopted a scowl.

"Out." Éowyn ordered, pointing toward the door. "Your sister has been through enough this eve and could do fully without you berating her. She needs a bath and a healthy rest."

Amrothos did not move save his jaw dropping and Lothíriel had to dip her head to stifle her smile. Servants came trailing into the room then, carrying buckets of steaming water as the tub was settled before the hearth.

"Well, off with you." Éowyn fluttered her hands toward the door and dumbly Amrothos stood, making for the threshold.

He paused, barely over it, before turning to face her. "I have sent word to father that you are with me."

Cold fear numbed her very soul as Amrothos took his leave, moving away and down the hall to his own borrowed chambers.

_I will be sent home on the morrow then. _Lothíriel stared mutely at the floor before Éowyn's slippered feet appeared and a soft hand cradled her chin to raise her face.

"I know what it is like to have an overbearing brother." she explained and Lothíriel was suddenly very grateful for her tidy dismissal of Amrothos.

"Come, do not worry about your father. What matters now is that you are safe and alive." Éowyn smiled down at her and Lothíriel couldn't help but return the gesture. She was right; Lothíriel could not think about what would happen tomorrow or the next day; in this world it was ever-changing. Her father's wrath would be there when she returned home, as well as the life she left behind. The tedious, stately, unexciting life which would now be followed by her father's ubiquitous shadow even more harshly than before.

Which is exactly why she had to live in the here and now.

Some time later Lothíriel sat perched on the high bed freshly cleaned and wearing a new shift while Éowyn brushed the long locks of her ebony hair. Her foot, she had found out, had been bitten by a warg, but thanks to her thick leather boots the lacerations were superficial and only warranted a bandage. The ache that plagued her head had subsided somewhat and as Lothíriel nibbled on cheese and bread she listened as Éowyn recounted all that had happened thus far in the War of the Ring. She told of the history of the One Ring and the Fellowship, how it came to be and was made up of factions from all over Middle Earth, but had been broken.

"They thought they had lost Gandalf as well as Boromir, but the wizard came back, hailing of the White Order."

"Boromir?" Lothíriel asked, momentarily stunned. "What do you mean, lost? What of my cousin?"

She turned to face Éowyn and the fair maiden of Rohan paused in her ministrations, a sorrowful look on her features. "I am sorry, I did not mean to speak so plainly. I thought you knew."

"No," Lothíriel whispered, turning back around as Éowyn took to brushing her hair once more. _This war continues to take loved ones. _Boromir and she had not been desperately close, but she had many fond memories of playing with Faramir and him as children at Minas Tirith.

Éowyn continued to tell Lothíriel of the hobbits Sam and Frodo and how the fate of Middle Earth rested on just their shoulders. She spoke of the coming of Gríma and the fall of Théoden which in turn had almost led to the fall of Rohan. Éowyn had been there when Mithrandir had broken the spell Wormtongue had over Théoden; apparently it had been a powerful sight to behold.

She spoke of Prince Théodred, her cousin, and how he had fallen at the Fords of Isen under the swords of orcs. Éomer had returned the fallen prince to his home, but where the Marshal had ridden after being banished under punishment of death no one knew.

"If it were up to me I would ride out and look for him myself." Éowyn spoke boldly.

"Aye; if it were one of my brothers I would do the same." Lothíriel remarked as the brush passed from her scalp down her back. _Even supercilious Elphir._

Éowyn continued to recount her knowledge of the army from the east, how Saruman was amassing tens of thousands of orcs to bring down all before them. Lothíriel listened, taking in everything that was being shared. If fear had been at the forefront of her emotions resolve now took its place, steady and sure.

_Like father, I would rather be dead than see the day Sauron and his orcs run Middle Earth_, she vowed to herself.

"Now tell me how you came to be at Rohan." Éowyn laid the brush aside and crawled across the bed to sit before Lothíriel. "And please, do not leave out a single detail!"

Lothíriel laughed, and though the night grew late and her bones cried for sleep she recounted every last bit of her journey. Éowyn's eyes shone with wonder and mirth, and she even laughed at the part where the soldier had urinated in the river right next to her! Lothíriel could not help to suppress her own laugh because it was funny now, really. At the time though… Lothíriel turned red at the very memory, eliciting another light peal of laughter from the Lady of Rohan.

"My brothers don't understand. They are their own men, free to make their own decisions. Since I was a babe I have lived in their shadows and my father always sought to protect me well beyond reason. I will have to marry for Dol Amroth, will never know true freedom, and this was my one chance to have an adventure and to make a difference rather than cower in the shadows. But I will surely be sent home now." Lothíriel's voice held a note of pain, one that did not speak for the injuries her body had acquired. No, this was a pain of the soul, one that spoke volumes of emotion.

"You do not need to explain yourself to me." Éowyn whispered, and she reached forth to clutch Lothíriel's hand tightly. "We are one in the same in this, princess."

They shared a smile then, one that leant to the very firm foundation of a lasting friendship.

"Rest now, for I can see you are weary. I will come to you on the morrow."

* * *

The next morning Lothíriel slept well past breakfast and it was almost noon before she left her borrowed chambers in the Golden Hall. The gown she had acquired from Éowyn was a deep green with golden embroidery around the cuffs and neck, but indeed too short for her. The boots she chose to wear were not covered at all; even the pale flesh of her calves was exposed! She almost considered asking for a pair of trousers, but she was so sick to death of the way they chafed her thighs and she had enough bumps and bruises on her body as it was. Éowyn accompanied her to the throne room after Lothíriel had braided her own hair in a single plait and with their arms laced they came upon Amrothos, Théoden, Éothain, and Aragorn pooling over a map and speaking war.

"If we stick close to the mountains by way of the Great West Road we may be able to take to the peaks for refuge if need be." Théoden was saying, and the ladies stilled in their walk to listen inquisitively.

"If we pull too far into the Mark we may meet orcs." Aragorn agreed, but at the dainty throat being cleared the men paused and turned to face the ladies.

"Lothíriel!" Amrothos straightened and it was then Lothíriel noticed the bandage on his arm.

"You're hurt?" She frowned, motioning to the dressing.

"It is only a brush. Where are you off to?" Amrothos looked at her warily, as if expecting her to bolt. Lothíriel watched as his eyes flickered from her sunburned face to her raw and reddened hands, down to her feet in boots and the dress exposing her calves. She could only imagine the thoughts of disapproval that were going through Amrothos's mind and she secretly delighted in every spark of dissatisfaction in his eyes. He had never been stern with her before last night (although, admittedly, she did deserve his anger) and took pleasure in getting a little rise out of him. She knew the stress of the situations around him must be aggravating, but at the same time could he not see that she was distressed as well, and could've done without the chiding?

_Men!_

"We are going to take a turn about outside. It will do the princess no good to stay cooped up here. She needs fresh air and to stretch her limbs." Éowyn answered, patting Lothíriel's hand. Lothíriel stifled a giggle, though she saw she wasn't the only one who couldn't contain her mirth.

Ignoring her brother's black look she stepped forward and offered her hand to Aragorn. "Lord Aragorn, it is utterly enthralling to finally meet you." She curtsied deeply as the heir to Gondor's throne bowed over her hand.

"My lady."

He was very handsome, this Strider. With brown hair that hung in loose waves to a set of broad shoulders, he had kind blue eyes and a mouth that always seemed to hint at a smile. He was no taller than she but built like a warrior, presenting to her in brown leather and weapons dripping from every place he could fit a sheath.

She turned to the King of Rohan then. "And Théoden King, please forgive my discourteous means of arrival." She curtsied even deeper then; the maneuver would've made her father proud.

"You are forgiven, if what Éowyn has told us is true." Théoden replied, raising an eyebrow as Amrothos opened his mouth to dissuade anymore words of praise from the king. "You are very brave to have accomplished all you have. But, as a father myself, I can speak for yours when I say he will be most displeased."

"That I do not doubt; you should be lucky you are not the one who has to face him!" Théoden laughed, as well as the others (save Amrothos, who was still scowling), and Lothíriel continued; she did not want to hear anymore on her behavior! What's done was done and there was only moving forward from here. Amrothos would fully forgive her in time; she knew he had already begun to by the soft look of affection scarcely hidden behind his malicious glare. Of all her brothers he was the most lighthearted, and like her father could not stay mad at her for long. "From what I hear we have much larger matters at hand."

"Yes," Théoden nodded, his gaze flickering to Éowyn. "We depart for Helm's Deep on the morrow. Make sure you are ready."

Hope kindled in her chest and she looked excitedly at Amrothos.

"We are to accompany them. It is too late and too dangerous to go home now." Amrothos conceded. "You are in my charge now, sister."

Elation bubbled up from her toes to her throat and she could not stop the smile that suddenly lit up her features and blinded those in the room.

_I am not to be sent home! _Enemies and dangers be damned, she was to stay! _I will have a chance to make a difference for my people…for Middle Earth!_

"We take our leave my lords." Éowyn ducked a curtsy and steered Lothíriel from the Golden Hall, their feet taking them swiftly across the wooden planks. A pair of guards opened the doors leading from Meduseld and together they took to the stone stairs, tittering happily between one another as they descended the long flight.

"Look!" Lothíriel clutched at Éowyn's arm suddenly, breathless with ardor. "Mithrandir!"

He stood by the stables conversing with one of the guards there; Lothíriel recognized him to be the one who stood beside Éomer before the tide of battle took over. The White Wizard was tall, much taller than she, and seemed to shimmer in the early afternoon light of Edoras. With white robes that brushed the dirt of Rohan, a beard that dipped low on his waist, and long straight hair that ran past his shoulders, the only hint of color on the wizard was a set of piercing blue eyes that suddenly tilted her way. He nodded at the guard as the women approached, dismissing him before gracing them with a gracious smile. An elegant, gleaming ivory horse stood behind him, neither saddled nor bridled; however the beast stood patiently, keeping silent vigil over his master.

"Ah, there is the Princess Lothíriel." Gandalf took her hand and bowed over it. "I am very humbled by your presence my lady. Indeed, your deeds of boldness have not fallen on deaf ears."

Lothíriel blushed as his eyes skimmed down to her bare calves before coming back to meet her gaze with mirth. "I have done nothing worthy of valor, Gandalf. Merely stupidity."

Gandalf threw back his head and laughed, clutching his staff tightly as his antics threatened to topple him. Already Lothíriel was gaining eyes from her manner of dress, but standing with the White Wizard with the Lady Éowyn by her side, the three were a sight to behold she was sure.

"Ah Lothíriel, if I were but a younger man I would vie for your hand." His eyes twinkled and he reached up to pat his stallion on the neck. "But that honor is saved for another man.

"My ladies, tomorrow you embark unto Helm's Deep. Your journey will not be without trials, but hold fast; you are needed yet."

And with that Gandalf swung himself up onto his steed and laid heel into the beast's ribs. The women stepped to one side and watched as the White Rider parted townsfolk in his haste, leaving them stupefied in his wake.

"What do you think he means by that?" Lothíriel asked.

"I more so want to know the man who will have the honor of taking your lovely hand." Éowyn teased lightly. "My brother is unmarried, you know."

Lothíriel giggled, as females do when talking of matters concerning the heart. "And have you as a sister-in-law? No thank you!"

The women laughed and paid no more mind to the subject than that.

* * *

Later that evening the servants laid out a meal that was hearty and fulfilling, all the more preparing the people of Edoras for their great move. Roasted venison was accompanied by mead and ale, as well as a fresh bed of greens, tasty rolls, mushrooms, and quail. Lothíriel ate her fill, but it was not the meal that brought her the greatest entertainment of the night.

Before the sweet meal at the end of supper was served, Lothíriel found herself engrossed in conversation with Éowyn before a strange voice interrupted their idle chitchat.

"My lady."

She looked up and Amrothos paused in his conversation with Aragorn to eavesdrop, because standing before her were the crusty-eyed guard and the younger guard from their company to Edoras, the ones who had given her the most trouble.

"Good soldiers," Her revenge had presented itself and Lothíriel vowed to relish this moment. "What is it that I may do for you? Oh," she raised a hand then, tapping a finger against her chin as Éowyn looked on with a knowing grin. She was well aware of what had happened with the soldiers, but Amrothos who was now listening to the exchange unabashedly, hadn't a clue.

"I know! You," she pointed at the younger soldier, and though he was quite handsome the red mottling his skin did not suit his features. "Need help finding a river to piss in."

"My lady—"

"Lothíriel!"

"Or perhaps you would like to show me what was in your trousers? After all, I have never seen one before."

Amrothos was sputtering at this point but Aragorn could not sustain his laughter anymore than Gimli the dwarf could, who was also listening. The attention of Théoden was now had as well, and he leaned across his plate to watch the exchange.

"Princess Lothíriel, we humbly beg your apology—"

"And you," she turned her finger to point at the older soldier. "were right. A soldier of Dol Amroth I am not. However, I am a _fair maiden_ and you will do well to remember that the next time next time we cross paths."

At the stricken looks on both their faces Lothíriel tossed back her head and laughed. "I forgive you both; after all, how were you to know I was a princess under all that garb? In fact, you helped my ruse, so I should be thanking you."

"Princess Lothíriel, please do not think wrongly of us." The older soldier pleaded, his own face mottled purple from embarrassment.

"It is forgotten." Lothíriel said kindly, dipping her head to dismiss them. The soldiers bowed and stepped down from the dais, leaving the lady Éowyn laughing uproariously behind the shield of her hand as the others exchanged looks of baffled amusement...except for poor Amrothos.

"Lothíriel, what the devil is wrong with you, speaking like that?" Amrothos chided.

"Do not even get me started on you!" Lothíriel laughed, turning to her brother on her left. "Threatening to make me walk on foot and ordering me to care for your mount while you sat and ate the choicest of morsels for supper! Is that how you treat all of your soldiers?"

Amrothos turned as red as a tomato while Théoden and Aragorn laughed loudly next to him.

"I did not know it was you!"

"And how Captain, did you not recognize your own flesh and blood?" Théoden asked, a blonde brow raised in mock chastisement.

"I am a great deceiver, Théoden King." Lothíriel leaned forward and winked, causing the king to laugh once more. Lothíriel did not take notice of the common folk of the hall watching the exchange; it had been a long time since their king had laughed and they were grateful for the spirited princess and her humor. "After all, I am a woman."

Aragorn choked on his ale while Amrothos merely stared at his sister in shock, his mouth hanging open.

"Honestly sister, where have you learned such manners of behavior?"

_Freedom has allowed me many liberties; I am discovering only now what it is truly like to be Lothíriel. Not Princess Lothíriel, or the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Simply Lothíriel._

"Amrothos, I am the only female in a house of four males; you really cannot expect that much from me."

* * *

Short and sweet, but necessary all the same. I enjoyed the humor of this chapter; I think it helps to lighten the inevitable. Hopefully you all enjoyed it as well, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts. See you all next week (or sooner; keep an eye out)!


	7. Chapter 7: As Fate Would Have It

**Chapter Seven: As Fate Would Have It**

The next day Lothíriel had donned another borrowed gown from Éowyn, this one proving not much longer than the first. It was drab in color, a muted brown, but they would be traveling and covered in dirt by noon anyway. She also had acquired a green cloak from her newfound friend, and was grateful for it when she learned the morning of their departure was cool and overcast with a brisk wind. The yard before Meduseld was packed with Rohirrim readying to make for Helm's Deep, packing whatever possessions they could carry on their mounts. The sick and disabled were placed in wagons, children placed on horses before their parents, and food packed away tightly in wraps and satchels. It wouldn't be a long journey to Helm's Deep, but it would be a slow one.

Lothíriel and Éowyn had stolen into the armory to obtain a bow and quiver full of arrows for the princess, and were just happening upon the courtyard with her pinched weapons when Amrothos honed in on her like a moth to flame, a black look marring his features. Lothíriel ducked behind a group of soldiers and their mounts, giggling as she clutched onto Éowyn's green cloak. She had avoided her brother all morning, much more keen to sneaking off with Éowyn; she had sorely missed female company. The Lady of Rohan was as witty as she was clever, and made for an excellent companion for getting into things a lady should not and sharing idle gossip. The two had become fast friends indeed!

"Quick! Let us find mounts!"

At that precise moment Lothíriel heard a rather loud yelp accompanied by a rebellious neigh, and she stood up straight without thinking and directed her vision toward the sound.

"Firebreather!" she yelled, a smile lighting her features.

The horse's ears pricked forward at the sound of her voice and when he caught sight of Lothíriel he reared slightly, causing the already flustered stable hand to turn loose his reins. Lothíriel laughed and caught them as the horse trotted over to her, bringing his mighty head down and nudging her shoulder roughly, but affectionately.

"My lady, you do not want this vile beast—"

"We are old friends." Lothíriel said more to Firebreather than to the stable hand, who twisted his hands nervously.

"I thought I had lost you." She whispered, stroking his nose. He nudged her hand and then nipped at her shoulder, a sign that Lothíriel took to mean that he had missed her just as much as she did him.

"He looks like my brother's mount." Éowyn joined her then, and Firebreather laid flat his ears at the intrusion.

"Now do not be contrary, Firebreather. This is my friend Éowyn." Lothíriel chastised, and the horse blew a heavy breath through his nose and stamped a hoof.

"He acts like Firefoot too." Éowyn remarked with a smile as her own mare was led up to her. Firebreather snapped at the female horse and Lothíriel laughed as the mare laid her ears flat and glared at her counterpart.

"See, my lady, you do not want this temperamental creature; why, he nearly tore my arm off—"

"Lothíriel you are not riding this beast to Helm's Deep." Amrothos had sidled up finally and he stood on the other side of Éowyn's horse, far from Firebreather. The ebon mount stepped toward Amrothos but Lothíriel held him back with a coy smirk and a pat to his big horse chest.

"He is mine, Amrothos. I will ride no other."

"Lothíriel…"

"He has carried me this far, and he will let no one else near him." Lothíriel stated matter-of-factly, and as if to bolster her statement the steed nudged her shoulder from behind, willing her for more affection. She raised a hand to stroke his neck and gazed at her brother with a raised eyebrow. "Unless you would like to try?"

"No thank you." Amrothos snapped. "Just keep him under control. And remember: you're riding up front with me."

Her brother stormed off and Lothíriel couldn't help but to laugh once more as she gave Firebreather a hearty pat to his neck before preparing to mount. She had seen the envy in her brother's eyes as plain as day; it had taken him months to control and adapt to his own warhorse Battlehorn.

Éowyn had already climbed up onto her own saddle and was adjusting her gown and cloak around her. "How did you come by a Rohirric warhorse anyway?" she asked Lothíriel, and the princess cocked her head to once side once she had mounted.

"What do you mean?"

"I would pay twenty gold coins to bet that he came from our own herd; though how he came to be at Dol Amroth I could not tell you. And ending up in the Princess's hands is beyond even that."

Lothíriel laughed, settling her own skirts and cloak about her. "I guess it was just fate."

* * *

Éomer and his men were packing up their camp they had made along the Entwash. They had made the riverside their home for the night, taking advantage of the tributaries sprouting from the end of the river and the fact that they had long lost the orcs that had been hunting them. The Marshal and his éored had been leading the creatures over the hills in a wild chase for the past day and a half, for who knew better the fields of Rohan than her sons? But it would not keep tranquil for long and staying in one place could lead to death. They had been lucky thus far: when they weren't leading the orcs into traps and ambushes, Éomer had been splitting his own éored to divide them, only to round about and attack. The orcs caught on quickly, but not before their numbers had dwindled to less than half.

But their respite had to end and so they made quick work of dousing their fires, saddling their mounts, and refilling their wineskins from the river.

"Rider!"

"Marshal, a rider approaches!"

"It's the White Rider!"

Éomer stood from his kneeling position by the river where he had been running cool water over his face and neck. He watched with a hint of a smile as Mithrandir rode up on Shadowfax, the horse that could not be tamed by the Rohirrim.

"Hail, Gandalf." Éomer nodded at the wizard.

"Éomer," Gandalf slid from Shadowfax, who immediately took to the river. "You don't know how happy I am to see you."

"You bring news from Edoras?"

Gandalf nodded. "Wormtongue has been banished, your uncle freed from his spell. However Théoden rides for Helm's Deep; he thinks to avoid war and take the people of Edoras to safety." Gandalf said, and Éomer felt dread squeeze his heart until it pained him.

"Helm's Deep? To sit right beneath the enemy's nose?" Éomer was dumbfounded by his uncle's idiocy. "There is no avoiding this war Gandalf, you and I both know that."

"Yes, but Théoden thinks otherwise. He means to take refuge and hold out against Saruman's army of uruk-hai." Gandalf lowered his voice, for a small gathering of Éomer's éored had gathered to listen to the conversation. "Éomer, there is well near ten thousand of them."

"Ten thousand?"

"Yes, with more on the way. We need you at Helm's Deep or Théoden and his company will be lost." Gandalf lowered his voice even more so, but the look of fear rising in Éomer's eyes was enough to have his men talking amongst themselves already.

"Eorlingas!" Éomer called, catching the attention of more of his riders. "We mount and ride for Helm's Deep! Théoden King awaits our aide!"

Éomer strode for Firefoot who had already been saddled and was waiting to be mounted. With ease Éomer swung up in the saddle, trying to keep the worry for those he cared for from the forefront of his mind. He could not let emotion sway him now.

He rode to the front of his éored with Gandalf riding Shadowfax on his heels, and together they began their quest to Helm's Deep; if they rode hard, they could reach the fortress in three days time.

"Does Éowyn ride with them?" Éomer could not help but ask, hoping his willful sister had not done something silly like stay behind to defend Edoras all on her own. Only Éowyn would think of doing something like that.

"Yes. She and the Dol Amroth princess, as well as the youngest son of Imrahil's. It was too dangerous for them to return home so they are accompanying your uncle."

"Lothíriel is her name?" At Gandalf's nod Éomer remarked, "So she lives then."

"With a few bruises to show for it, yes." Gandalf replied with a smirk that was not unkind.

_Lothíriel_, Éomer mused, picturing how the princess had lain limp and looking lifeless in his arms. So young and so fragile, but yet to be on the field of battle she had to be brave, if only a little touched in the head. More than once over the course of the nights her face had teased his mind, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, tinged by the harsh rays of the sun. He tried to tell himself it was from worry; there need not be any more death in this war. However more than once his mind had recalled the way her hair had lain over his arm, an ebony fall of the softest locks. She had been tall too, he recalled, and slim; with all the chain mail and men's clothes she had been wearing he would bet without it all she weighed no more than a sack of grain.

_Lothíriel…_

"What had she been doing there?" he pondered aloud, and was startled when he heard Gandalf chuckle.

"I would advise you to ask her yourself, Marshal." The wizard said in that cryptic way of his before urging Shadowfax into a gallop no horse could keep up with, but one Firefoot was all the more eager to try.

* * *

They had made better time than Lothíriel thought they would. The company had camped for the night under the swift vigil of the Rohirrim and by mid-morning next day were embarking ever closer down the ravine that led to Helm's Deep. When word began to spread that they would reach the fortress well before nightfall, gasps and cries of happiness rang down the line of wagons and riders, and Lothíriel couldn't help but feel a wave of relief course through her own veins; being out in the open with only a bow at her back made her anxious.

"It won't be long now, my ladies." Gimli the dwarf, who rode with the elf Legolas, chirped from his position. "Soon you will be safe within the walls of the keep."

"Though from what I hear, the princess would like more to be on the battlefield." Legolas remarked and Lothíriel laughed, albeit a blush stole over her cheeks. He was handsome, with long, long platinum hair and eyes as blue as ice. He was taller than she, though leanly muscled from years of servitude to his father and his realm. He dressed in the green garb of the elves from Mirkwood, also carrying their weapon of choice: a longbow. Lothíriel could only guess how many blades he carried on his person though she could not spot any in the light of day. His high cheekbones gave way to shape his almond eyes and a set of ears that pointed at the tips. He was the complete opposite of his partner, who was less than half his size but twice as wide. Gimli was proud of his long beard that he could tuck into his trousers, his auburn hair matching from where it was wildly stuffed beneath his helmet. He wore a pair of axes at his back and the rough, black leather armor of a dwarf from beneath the mountains.

"Will no one give me respite on that matter?" she teased, barely having to guide Firebreather over the rocks and hills they traversed.

"I fear, my lady, that your feat of stealth and survival will long be passed down through the ages." Legolas remarked.

"Why, it reminds me of the courage of the dwarves! For we are the most daring of all the races of Middle Earth!"

Éowyn laughed as Legolas looked pointedly with a raised brow at his comrade and Aragorn shook his head though mirth danced in his eyes.

"I rather think my brother will tell you it was more stupidity than courage my lord dwarf." Lothíriel remarked, shooting Amrothos a knowing smile which he ignored.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting a little excitement, my lady. If ever you want to visit my home in the Blue Mountains, my people would welcome you graciously."

Lothíriel laughed, bowing her head to Gimli. "Well thank you, master dwarf. I shall do well to remember that."

"I think you are getting more than your fill of adventure." Aragorn remarked, his white teeth flashing in a grin. "And in the company of an elf and a dwarf no less."

"Did you know that I have ancestors of the elvish kind?" Lothíriel asked and chose to take no notice of Amrothos when he rolled his eyes. "Mithrellas, an elf from the kingdom of Lórien."

"I have heard of her; she came with Nimrodel who was fleeing the uncertainties of the newly awakened balrog, among other things." Legolas said, earning a nod from Lothíriel.

"She fell in love with my very great grandfather Imrazôr, though she fled in the dark of the night even after spending many years with him and baring him two children. She was never heard from again."

"Aye, I have heard as much. Your elvish lineage must be where you get your legendary skill with a bow." Aragorn said, much to Lothíriel's happiness.

"Legendary?" She sat a little high atop Firebreather.

"Oh, don't get her started Aragorn." Amrothos cut in. Lothíriel scowled at her brother and those around them laughed. "You will have to tell her how great she is, how beautifully she wields a bow, and this that and the other. Having had to do it every morning for the past innumerable amount of years, I think I can do without for one day."

Lothíriel made a face at Amrothos as he turned back in his saddle, and then turned her attention back to Aragorn.

"Your lady, is she not elvish? I have heard many great things about the lady Arwen."

Apparently it was not the right thing to say because the look of joy that always resided underneath the surface of Aragon's weathered features suddenly leeched away and he turned his face to the path before him. Lothíriel exchanged a contrite look with Éowyn who shrugged, and when Aragorn did not answer Legolas spoke up.

"She rides for the Undying Lands with all that is left of her kin."

Lothíriel watched as Aragorn touched the jewel at his neck, one that she noticed he never went without. "She is the one who gave you that jewel then?"

"Yes." Was his solemn answer, his voice hollow, his eyes haunted as he wrapped callused fingers around the jewel that shone with the light of the brightest star; when she had first noticed the trinket Lothíriel thought it to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Why do you not go and claim her?" Éowyn asked, her own voice sounding a trifle forlorn. "If you love her, then you should ride after her."

"It is not that simple." Aragorn brought his eyes to the ground, before they hardened and he returned his gaze to their path. "She is elf-kind, I am a man. It cannot work."

"Yet you carry her charm." Éowyn remarked and Aragorn said nothing as Legolas trotted by with Gimli.

He said something in elvish that Lothíriel did not understand, but she was lost in her own thoughts. She had not given much thought to love, had always thought it was way beyond her reach. But the way Éowyn spoke to Aragorn made her heart suddenly yearn for the blinding passion she had only heard about through songs or read in books. Indeed, she had heard many tales of Lady Arwen and her ranger Strider, their love crossing the borders of race and distance alike. Would she ever find a great love like that? One that would leave her weak in the knees, her heart fluttering in her throat?

She dismissed the thoughts. _No, I will marry for duty because that is what is required of me as Princess of Dol Amroth._ Her soul withered at the thought and she could not help the feeling of desolation that suddenly blanketed her mood.

_To never know love…_

"There are no boundaries to love." Éowyn said gently, but Aragorn had long stopped listening; or at least, he pretended to.

"What did Legolas say?" Lothíriel asked, but Éowyn shrugged.

"I will admit I know no elvish."

Silence fell then as Legolas and Gimli took two other Rohirric riders with them and went to scout ahead. Lothíriel looked over at Éowyn to find her eyes fixed blankly on the road before them, seeing nothing.

"What is it Éowyn?"

Her friend lifted her head and smiled gently, though the gesture did not touch her cerulean eyes. "It is nothing."

"Please tell me, for I would like to know."

Éowyn sighed softly, turning her eyes back to the road. "It is sad to see such unhappiness, especially in such a bleak time on Middle Earth. The love between Arwen and Aragorn is renowned, long and true: Shortly after his father was killed Aragorn came to foster beneath the great lord Elrond, and it was in Rivendell that he met and fell in love with Arwen on first sight. They pledged their souls to each other on the mound of Cerin Amroth and have stayed true to one another all these years. I only wish that their fate was laid differently."

"You speak as if you have known love." Lothíriel replied.

"I have not," Éowyn admitted. "And I know I never will." Lothíriel watched as her small hands twisted the reins and her lips pressed together to leech of color. She turned stricken blue eyes on Lothíriel and the princess was startled to see that the look they had adopted reminded her of a look of her own.

"I fear a cage, my lady, one that is forged from bars of duty and obedience." Éowyn's voice was low, but the truth she spoke rose a fire in Lothíriel's heart. "I long for adventure, excitement, but most of all love."

_Love… _Lothíriel's heart gave a distant pang, one she tried desperately to disregard. "I do believe you've found a kindred spirit, my lady." She said softly.

"Aragorn!"

Legolas's shout drew her attention and she turned her eyes then to the elf who was riding full speed back to her and the company from Edoras. Dread suddenly filled her bones when she caught the look of terror on Legolas's face, and Firebreather sidled nervously beneath her, tossing his head in unease.

"We just killed two scouts!" Legolas pulled his mount to a stop before Théoden, who looked at Aragorn with fire in his eyes. "We will soon be under attack!"

A cry of alarm rose up from those around her and Lothíriel turned in her saddle to watch the ripple of news travel down the crowd. She turned Firebreather back to face front and watched with a muted sense of horror as Amrothos pulled his sword from his scabbard.

"Muster the Rohirrim." Théoden said, sending Amrothos and Éothain down the line to pull soldiers from the riding party. "Éowyn, I want you and Lady Lothíriel to lead our people to the safety of Helm's Deep."

"But I can fight!"

"No!" Théoden shouted, turning Snowmane around to face her, his eyes harsh in the dim light of the sun. "You must do this for me; our people know you and trust you to be their hope."

Éowyn hesitated but a moment more before raising her chin and nodding at her uncle. She met Lothíriel's eyes and the two women knew in that moment that this was their place; it was what they could do for the people of Rohan and they would do it faithfully and fully.

"I'll take the east flank, you ride down the west." Éowyn began to say as Lothíriel tightened the reins leading to Firebreather. The warhorse stamped and pranced, wanting to join the men as they rode ahead to stay their quarry. "Urge the folk to make for lower ground and stay together."

Lothíriel nodded and pulled Firebreather around to begin heading down her allotted path, back from the way they came.

"Lothíriel!"

She turned as her brother called and met his eyes, filled with the agony of indecision. His dapple-grey was moving from left to right, eager to join the fray, but held fast by his master's hand. She knew he worried for her, and indeed she was concerned for herself as well. But she was a woman of Dol Amroth, a strong female with powerful kin both ancient and present, and this was the fate she was deigned to live. Whatever came her way, Lothíriel vowed here and now to meet it head on. Resolute in her thoughts, Lothíriel gave her brother a grin, reassuring and beautiful all at once. Though no words were exchanged she knew her smile spoke for her, telling Amrothos that she would be all right.

"Make father proud!" she called, before kicking Firebreather into a swift gallop. "I will see you at Helm's Deep!"

She shouted to the people of Rohan to remain calm and to make for lower ground. "Stay together!" she said, cantering next to lines of women and children. "We are almost to the fortress!"

Éowyn was doing the same, but got hung up towards the middle of the group to help with a wagon. Lothíriel kept on, riding towards the back of the cavalcade as they hurried along down towards the ravine where Helm's Deep was beginning to show. She sat tall atop Firebreather to watch as the people of Rohan passed by her, diligently making sure they made it safely down the hill to the fortress.

The sounds of battle soon rent the air and Firebreather nickered, warning her that it was time to follow the stragglers bringing up the rear. Éowyn rode up to her then, her mare tossing her head back and forth, back and forth, worrying her bridle with yellow teeth.

"You ride on, lead them down the ravine. I will bring up the rear." Lothíriel told Éowyn, taking the reins of Firebreather to round him about to encircle the last of the wagons.

Éowyn nodded and urged her mount into a canter to the front of the line while Lothíriel turned and trotted to the end of it.

"Keep moving! Make haste; you are almost there!" She called to the Rohirrim, nodding to urge them on. "You are almost to safety, just a little more!"

A howl pierced the hot midday air and Lothíriel jerked her gaze to the high cliffs where the men had ridden to. A single warg and his rider began to slide down the rocky outcropping and Lothíriel's heart jumped to her chest as the townsfolk nearest her began to scream.

"My lady, a warg!"

"Help! Help us!"

Lothíriel reached for her bow and an arrow without hesitation as fire filled her vision and hard determination coursed through her veins. _This one will not get the best of me!_

She had shot astride many times so a moving target was no feat for her, but Firebreather was unspoken for. She was used to riding Seawind; how the warhorse would react she did not know. _But I have to take the chance. I cannot let these people come to harm._

"Lothíriel!"

The princess heard the shrill cry of Éowyn but didn't take her eyes from the warg barreling towards her. With a shout of defiance she dug her heels into the horse's side and gave him free reign as she mounted her arrow and took aim.

"_Lothíriel!_"

Firebreather leapt into a hard gallop, heading straight for the warg. Lothíriel quickly took mark of the angle of the sun and the gust of the wind before falling into a rhythm with her horse and letting her arrow fly. The weapon sang through the air accompanied by Éowyn's scream of despair and found its home in the right shoulder of the warg. The creature stumbled, causing his rider to topple from his back, which allowed Lothíriel a heartbeat's time to notch another arrow.

Black hair rippling in the wind with her mount shrieking beneath her, Lothíriel's second arrow met its mark square between the orc's eyes. The warg, however, had recovered too quickly for Lothíriel to notch another arrow and she suddenly found herself without protection.

Firebreather reared then, his hooves like iron coming down on the body of the warg to prevent it from sending horse and rider to the ground in a tangle of dangerous limbs. Lothíriel gritted her teeth as blood sailed up to splotch her clothes and hands, but notched another arrow nonetheless.

_I will not meet my fate on this day! _With a battle cry to make the envy of any man, she let loose her bow and watched as the arrow pierced the skull of the warg and made him no more.

Quickly, because she knew there wasn't much time before warg reinforcements showed, she stowed her bow and grabbed Firebreather's reins, turning him about-face to gallop toward the fleeing townsfolk. Éowyn was waiting for her, her face pale and her awe evident in the shining of her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked Lothíriel as the princess brought her mount to halt.

"Come, we cannot tarry." Firebreather pranced, his brown eyes near crazed with passion. "Let us make for Helm's Deep!"


	8. Chapter 8: The Battle of the Hornburg

It's been a good Monday so far and because I have spare time, here's another chapter for all you lovelies! =] It's a long one and a good one; though I guess I should warn you all that there is a little bit of gruesomeness involved. Nothing too major; just didn't want to take anyone by surprise.

I don't feel like I have to say this (again) but I will to save everyone the headache: some things you read are not the way they were initially written by Tolkien or portrayed by Peter Jackson; I'm totally aware of that. It's that way for the sake of my beautiful and wonderfully crafted story. If something that I have written _really_ irks you, come talk to me! On that note, I thoroughly enjoy any reviews, comments, questions, concerns that you might have, so leave me a love note anyway ;]

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Battle of the Hornburg**

As Lothíriel and Éowyn rode up the stone bridge leading to the great door of Helm's Deep, the last of the people of Edoras were slipping through. The tall, wooden doors were pulled shut behind them and both women slid from their saddles amidst the chaos around them.

"Princess Lothíriel!"

"You were so brave!"

"Thank you so much for seeing us to safety, my ladies!"

Wagons and horses were pulled to one side while townsfolk crowded the noblewomen. Lothíriel felt many hands upon her back and met countless relieved smiling faces. A few children screamed in belated panic and there were a handful of fainthearted women who sobbed, but they had all made it safely. _Thank the gods._

"Lady Éowyn, thank you for leading us to the fortress!"

"You both were most courageous!"

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Éowyn smiled at the praise but she and Lothíriel both knew they were still far from being completely and utterly safe. "Begin taking the disabled and children to the great hall. Any able body can help!" Éowyn called to those around her, pointing toward the right of the great horse statue in the center of the stone courtyard. Immediately women began to usher their children to the aforementioned hall and the elderly and disabled were helped from the wagons and escorted as well. Some of the younger women lingered and crowded around Éowyn, looking to her for guidance.

"When will our husbands and sons return?"

"What should we do now my lady?"

"Rouse the guards, prepare them for defense." Éowyn heeded, turning her attention to those closest to her. They readily took her orders and hastened off to scour the inner and outer levels of the keep for soldiers while others tottered off to help with the frail and the young.

"We will need to prepare for the men to return." Éowyn turned to Lothíriel then, and the princess nodded as Firebreather snorted from behind her. "For now we will take refuge in the great hall with the others; there is an entrance to the mountains that we may utilize if need be."

Lothíriel nodded to her comrade and together they led their mounts to the stable where they handed them off to young stablehands. Firebreather flattened his ears at the exchange of ownership and she smiled up at him affectionately.

"I owe you my life." She said, stroking his nose. "We will not be parted long, my friend. Behave."

The steed snorted and Lothíriel hurried off with Éowyn, crossing the wide outer area into a smaller second, to head through another set of wooden doors that opened up into a great hall. People were running about, clearing tables, moving chairs and benches, and fetching water.

"Down at the end of that hall is the entrance to the caves." Éowyn said, pointing a slender finger to a dark doorway. The great hall was deep and narrow, dark but being lit by torches as they spoke.

"What caves?" Lothíriel asked.

"The Glittering Caves; they lead to many places, none to which I have ever been." Éowyn exchanged a worried glance with Lothíriel, her brow creased ever so slightly. "Let us hope this does not come to us having to yield to the darkness of Aglarond. Though they are beautiful I would not want to get lost beneath the mountains."

"Ho! Riders! Riders of Rohan!"

"Open the gates!"

Lothíriel and Éowyn heard the call of the guard and took off out of the hall back to the stone courtyard of the outer level. They arrived just as the wooden doors were opening and in rode the men that had turned to defend them on the Great West Road. Théoden, Amrothos, Aragorn, and Legolas with Gimli all filtered in on their mounts followed by noble soldiers, some worse for the wear than the others.

"Take the wounded to the hall!" Lothíriel shouted over the noise of clattering horse hooves and the bedraggled cries of injured men. "See to it they get water and a blanket!"

"Our people are safe, but we have paid for it with many lives." Théoden told Éowyn and Lothíriel as a stablehand took the reins of Snowmane from him and the king dismounted.

"Are you unhurt?" Éowyn asked her uncle, her eyes searching his blood-matted hair and shining armor.

"I am, but I cannot say the same for some of my men. It was smart to set up the hall as a ward; I am grateful for your quick cunning." Théoden bowed his head slightly and Lothíriel returned the gesture as her heart pounded away in her chest. The tides of war were ever-changing; one moment one could be safe and the next fighting for their very life. Lothíriel deigned to remember that.

"There is a great force headed this way." Amrothos interjected, his face streaked with black orc blood as he slid from his own mount, Aragorn doing the same.

"We need to strengthen the defenses of the fortress." Strider said, his elf and dwarf friends flanking him on either side.

"Saruman has been busy." Gimli remarked with contempt.

"We will see to the women and children, you ready the defenses." Éowyn said, and the others readily agreed.

"Are you all right?" Amrothos tugged on Lothíriel's shoulder with a heavy hand, turning her to face him. He was shaking, she noticed, his eyes wrought with fright.

"I am fine Amrothos." She placed a hand over his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Please, look after yourself. I will be well guarded with the other women and children."

"Little Loth, I thought I had lost you once; I can't bear that thought again."

Thinking now would not be the best time to admit to her deed of heroics not minutes before, Lothíriel smiled up at her handsome brother. "You are the one who will be alongside the men on the frontlines. Please, Amrothos, think only of yourself. I will see you when the orcs have turned tail and run."

"How I miss the days when war was but a child's game between us and the use of your bow was only for sport." He leaned down to kiss her then, a soft brush against her dirtied cheek. "I pray you do not have to use it on this day. Promise me you will stay inside."

Her smile never faltered as she watched Amrothos depart with the men, glancing back only once to her. She waved, grateful that her tangled hair hid the stain of orc's blood and that she had been keen enough to wipe her face of it, before Éowyn took her arm and began to lead her to the hall.

"We have to see to the wounded." Éowyn told her, pulling her along.

Lothíriel gathered her skirts in one hand and moved as fast as her injured foot would allow. Her heart had calmed to a degree, but adrenaline ran hot and fast through her veins.

"But I have no skill in the art of healing!"

"Then you will have to listen, princess, for I have some skill." Éowyn shot a look of humor over her shoulder as the women hurried up the small set of stairs and through the wooden doors to the inner level. "I know listening is not your strong suit, but you will have to oblige me for a time."

"Oh ha ha." Lothíriel remarked, reaching forward to pinch Éowyn at her waist. "Very funny my lady."

* * *

Not an hour later the women and children were huddled near the back of the great hall of Helm's Deep and were finally beginning to calm while the wounded had been set up comfortably on either side of the hall. Laid out on tables and benches, some even lying on blankets on the floor, the men were being tended to by those who had some skill at healing. Lothíriel moved about the men with a bucket of water and a ladle, offering drink and solace while they were looked after. The most minor of the injuries were mended and the men dismissed, and soon they found themselves with only a handful of soldiers to care for.

"I will go and check on the women and children, to see if they need anything." Éowyn approached her then, wiping her hands clean on an already bloodied rag. "Are you all right here?"

"Aye," Lothíriel remarked, stooping next to a soldier who lay moaning on a thin blanket strewn on the floor.

Éowyn took her leave and Lothíriel bent to kneel next to the soldier who had been shed of his armor and helmet. His chainmail lay in a pile next to his bare chest, which sported viciously jagged teeth marks in the tanned flesh. The worst of the wounds had been covered and stuffed with an odiferous poultice, but he still looked sickly pale, extremely diaphoretic, and sported flaccid limbs. Lothíriel swallowed a thick lump of dread from her throat and forced herself to smile down at the man as she lifted the ladle to his lips, gently cradling his head with her other hand.

"A drink, soldier." She whispered gently, tipping the spoon ever so slightly.

He moaned but took the water, and Lothíriel was surprised when he split his bleary and swollen eyes to look at her.

"The princess…" he rasped, but Lothíriel quickly shushed him.

"Rest easy; you will need all your strength to heal."

Instead the soldier smiled, a breath passing through lips that trembled. "I only…need to gaze upon…your fine…features…" He gasped then and Lothíriel put the spoon back in the bucket of water to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. "To make…the passing of death…pleasurable…"

_This man fears no death; he fought well and will now die for his country without gripe or question. He will never see his family again, never know their embrace. To lie here with the knowledge that he will never know warmth or happiness again should break him, yet here he rests and smiles at me._

Tears gathered in her eyes as she compelled herself to maintain a look of levity down at the man. "What are you talking about; you will be fine! You are a strong man, a mighty soldier of Rohan!" As she spoke the tears she had tried desperately to hold back coursed down her cheeks, leaving streaks of porcelain skin through the dirt on her face.

"My lady…" He let out a shuddering breath and then and closed his eyes, passing into the realm of his fathers with a smile on his battered and broken face.

Lothíriel closed her eyes and bowed her head, her small form shaking from the force of her grief. No, she had not known the soldier, but how many nameless men would she share the same fate with?

She lifted a hand to press against his lids before murmuring a gentle prayer and placing his body back to the ground. She pulled his cloak over his head and laid a kiss to her hand before passing it to his chassis.

"May the grace of the gods follow you." She whispered, standing with her bucket and ladle once more.

She looked around the great room at the people scurrying to and fro, the wounded men who lay dying. Beyond the doors she could hear the other soldiers readying for battle. She knew she could not be with them, but she suddenly realized she was needed more here.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, moving to the blanket which held the next dying warrior. No, these were not her people, but they were people all the same, and if she had anything to do with it they would not pass into the realm of the undead alone and afraid, crying out for death to take them. She would be their light in whatever way she could.

* * *

The afternoon had come to bleed into dusk, passing swiftly under the busy workings of the hall. There was food to be made, children to feed and quiet, and the bodies of the dead to find room for. Two more soldiers had lost their fight with the claws of death and their passing was no less difficult to endure for Lothíriel. She kept herself busy helping the women with the children, caring for the elderly, and making her rounds on the soldiers that still lay fighting for their lives.

Night had fully fallen not long ago when suddenly a great horn sounded from through the wooden doors. Éowyn and Lothíriel met eyes across the room and stood in unison before falling into step halfway to the doors.

"That is no orc horn." Éowyn remarked as she slipped through the doors and down the steps leading to the outer level.

A burst of night air chilled Lothíriel and she wrapped her arms tightly around her torso as she looked up to the sky. The night was clear, but the scent of rain lingered on the wind. There was little moon on this night making the light from the torches stand out in bright, orange glows. Men meandered around both the inner and outer levels, talking, eating, or standing guard at the battlements looking out over the ravine of Helm's Deep.

"Open the gates!"

Hurrying after Éowyn, Lothíriel stopped a ways from the main gate and watched as the great doors were opened. A new legion of troops suddenly burst through, dressed in matching long cloaks of midnight blue and ornate armor of finely wrought silver. Some touted spears, others longbows and quivers, and others still with lengthy swords with bejeweled handles. Their mounts were tall, with long manes and tails, boasting coats of the deepest blacks, the finest whites, and the darkest reds.

"Elves!" Éowyn breathed as one rider, their leader, dismounted from his steed and took his helmet from his head to reveal pointed ears. A grin overcame him as he spotted Aragorn pushing his way through the crowd to grasp forearms with the elf.

Whispers arose from the men around them and Lothíriel and Éowyn crept closer to get a better look at the elf and his handsome troop as they still filtered in from the outlands.

"We bring greetings from Lord Elrond, as well as Lady Galadriel." The elf said, his eyes surveying the crowd of men before him. "We have come to acknowledge a long-ago alliance between elves and men, and honor it on this day."

"Haldir, you are most welcome." Aragon said, clasping his shoulder before turning him to introduce to Théoden.

Lothíriel watched as the leader of the elves exchanged a few words with the king of Rohan before his eyes turned to sweep the crowd once more. He was a handsome elf, broad in shoulder and dressed in a crimson tunic with matching breeches. On his expansive chest he bore the proud Leaf of Lórien, and she noticed that he shared the fair hair and cold, calculating eyes of his famous kin. Others came to greet him, to offer their thanks, but suddenly his eyes fell on her.

Lothíriel found herself rooted to the stone floor beneath her borrowed boots. Of all the things she had encountered on this journey, the presence of an elf would remain the most awe-inspiring. Though she found herself in the company of Legolas and his cunning, as well as his swift, sure footing and impeccable battle skills every day, he still never ceased to amaze her. The elves held a presence about them; they knew they were the superior race, excelled at every skill there was to be had, and were unerringly and entrancingly beautiful. The aura they exuded was pure tranquility, yet Lothíriel knew from others that the elves were as ruthless and more dangerous than most foes of Middle Earth.

Yet as her eyes locked with Haldir's from across the stone courtyard he smiled, a warm smile that brought sudden soothing to her frayed nerves.

_Hail, Princess of Dol Amroth. _A voice that was not her own whispered to her and she started, before the light of laughter crossed through Haldir's eyes and she realized that it was _his voice in her mind!_

_ May the grace of the Valar accompany you on your journey, for it is far from finished yet._

A piercing shrill of another horn rent the air and Lothíriel jerked her gaze to rove over the fields before Helm's Deep as the wind took up a sharp gust about her. Taking in a shuddering breath she moved to the stone wall, Éowyn at her side, and got her first real look of the host of Saruman.

Lothiriel felt the blood drain from her face as her throat constricted in unadulterated fear. Never, in all the years of her life or the wildest dredges of her imagination had she ever envisioned such a thing. _So many…_ Trembling fingers wrapped around the stone wall as Lothíriel gazed at the troops who had begun to fill in the ravine below. Thousands upon thousands of torches lit the dark as they ascended the hill she had ridden down from not hours before, filling the field with enemy soldiers. Howls of rage rent the air and shivers stole down Lothíriel's spine as they encroached upon the lands of Rohan.

"There are so many…" Éowyn breathed Lothíriel's own thoughts, unconsciously stepping nearer her friend as soldiers crowded around them to look as well.

"Thousands." Lothíriel whispered, her eyes wide in bewilderment. Rain began to fall in soft, slow drops. "How can we expect to hold out against so many?"

Tall towers roughly hewn of wood pulled by cave trolls were soon to follow the rows upon rows of enemy soldiers, too many for her weary eyes to count. The march of the uruk-hai thundered up the walls of the Deepening Coomb to tremble the stone beneath her feet as another shrill blast of an orc horn rent the air.

"Why have we not called to Gondor for aide?" Lothíriel asked.

Éowyn's voice was dismal. "It is too late now."

"Lothíriel! Éowyn!"

Both of the women jumped at the harsh voice of Amrothos, who was pushing aside men to get to them.

"Damn it all," Lothíriel muttered under her breath.

"I told you to stay inside." His ire was directed toward his sister, but Amrothos cast a look of rage at Éowyn as well. "It is not safe for you out here."

"We only came when we heard the elf horn; we wanted to see who else had come." Lothíriel said smartly, refusing to be cowed by her brother.

Amrothos grabbed her arm and though she knew he didn't mean to hurt her, his grip was rough, his fingers brittle as they bit through the linen of her gown and into her flesh. "Lothíriel, I am responsible for you now. You cannot go traipsing around wherever and whenever you feel. You see the orcs down there; you know the danger we are in!"

"I am responsible for myself." She ripped her arm from his grasp, her emotions a firestorm within her as the rain began to fall in earnest. She was tired, she was starving, but most of all she was so very afraid of what this night could hold; she would not let another soul know it, but she was deathly and wholly afraid. "I am no invalid; I see and hear as well as you do and know full well the danger I am in. Lest you forget, Amrothos; I can take care of myself."

"If father were here—"

"But he is not. It is you and I and you cannot continue to follow me around like a shadow; you have greater things to worry about. You must believe in me Amrothos. I have made it this far; I will not let myself be taken easily if it came to that."

Amrothos ran a gloved hand through his black hair, sending the curling locks askew. His grey eyes closed and he heaved a great sigh, revealing just how tired he truly was.

"By the gods sister, you will be the death of me."

"At least it will be a pretty one." She smiled, pulling her brother in for a quick hug.

"Please, stay with the women and children. Just promise me that one thing, Little Loth." Amrothos begged, pulling her back by her shoulders to look down at her.

"I can do that brother." Lothíriel bowed her head in submission and then lifted a hand to his scruffy cheek. "Go and make that orc filth rue they day they challenged men!"

Amrothos smiled, but it was a slow, sad smile, full of the same fear that Lothíriel felt in her very soul. Éowyn took her arm then and together they fled as an answering battle horn sounded from the ranks of men.

* * *

The battle for Helm's Deep was unlike anything Lothíriel had ever experienced. Being ambushed by a single orc hardly compared to the onslaught of a full fledged battle. Even sequestered beneath the mountain, the sounds invoked shards of paralyzing fear to streak through her blood. She lost all track of time as soldiers came in from battle and were either tended and sent back out or laid upon the floor to wither into nothingness. Lothíriel tended to every man with what little skill she had acquired over the course of the night, but still some wounds were even beyond more skilled hands than hers. Children cried well into the wee hours, mothers softly cooing to console or weeping with them. Lothíriel offered what solace she could but remained on her feet running to and fro, her wearied body unhindered for the adrenaline coursing through her.

As the wounded grew steadily in number and they began to run out of room and hands, Lothíriel and Eowyn recruited a number of women to aide them and those from the Houses of Healing that had come with them from Edoras. They were put to the task of moving lost limbs to the outer reaches of the hall and readying those who were able to rejoin the battle. Lothíriel and Éowyn saw little of each other, but were constantly asking for battle updates from the soldiers as they came down in waves.

"The orcs are many, my lady."

"Our defenses are dwindling."

"Even Théoden doesn't know how long we will last."

Her stomach screamed with hunger pains and her injured foot begged for respite, but Lothíriel kept moving. Between tending to minor wounds, relieving the soldiers of their thirst, fetching fresh linen, cleaning up spills of blood, and this that and the other, she never had a moment's rest.

But the soldiers smiled when they saw her and when they didn't she made it her goal to rid them of the burden of war, at least for a little. Lothíriel lost count of the number of prayers she said, hands she held, or tears she wiped away. And though these were not her people she felt a bond, a simple bond of humanity, bred from hope and fear, life and death, sadness and joy.

Sometime during the fray, a giant thunderous sound rent the air. It shook the depths of the cave and caused screams to sound from the women, cries to resonate from the children. Unsure of what to do Lothíriel pressed on, never once deviating in her task.

"The city has long been breached." A soldier rasped as she knelt by his side, quickly removing his helmet with her own filthy hands. She had never gotten a chance to fully wash the warg blood from her earlier exploits and had long been handling the wounds of others. The soldier's face was badly battered, his lips cracked and his eyes blackened, one swollen shut, and he was profusely bleeding from the stump where an arm used to be.

"What do you mean?" Lothíriel brushed her hair from her face, her coronet long dismembered and laying in frazzled tatters about her head, as she reached for a linen swatch to press against his wound. She learned early on in the night not to stare at any injuries that came her way; it could cause the soldier undue hysterics if her face betrayed her horror. She was not easily sickened (growing up with three brothers had done that to her), but in the beginning of the night her head had swum at the sight of fresh blood. Now, after hours of seeing things no woman of any upbringing should ever see, Lothíriel was more than acquainted to the scent of decaying flesh, bright blood, loose bowels, and dismembered limbs.

"The orcs…" The soldier cringed when she pressed the linen to his stump to stop the bleeding. "They came with a great ball of fire and blew a hole in the Deepening Wall."

Lothíriel forced herself not to think of what that could even mean and instead offered the soldier a smile. "And you walk away with a scratch." He had been dragged in by two men who had jumped right back into the fray, slamming the doors behind them.

"Aye, a scratch." The soldier groused, puffing on a smile that did not linger before it was stolen by a wave of pain.

"Bah!" Lothíriel brought a cloth to his face with her free hand as she staunched the blood with her other, to wipe his scrapes clean. "This is a trophy of war! Think of all the pretty maidens that will clamor to hear your heroic deeds of battle!"

The soldier laughed, but that too was taken by a gasp of agony. "Will you be among them, fair princess?"

"I fair think you will not see me through the crowds of eager ladies." Lothíriel smiled down at him as a healer knelt on the man's opposite side with a thick wad of bandages. Lothíriel exchanged a nod with him before standing, bidding her charge farewell before moving onto the next.

Éowyn caught her then, her blonde hair streaked with sweat and tipped with the blood of others. "The walls of Helm's Deep have been breached." She said, clutching at Lothíriel's arm with bone-crushing force. "Orcs have broken through the ranks and are heading this way. I have been given the order by Théoden to head for the pass beneath the mountain."

"And you know not will that will take us?" Lothíriel asked, hardly able to keep the trembles from her voice.

Éowyn's eyes betrayed her unease though her voice was hard as she answered, "No, I do not."

"It is all right Éowyn," Lothíriel said softly, taking the woman's hand between her own and clutching it dearly. "We have made it this far; we will live to see the dawn's light. Come now; the others need us."

A flurry of movement followed as Éowyn and Lothíriel began to organize the wounded to be carried to the caves. Lothíriel sent word to the women and children lying in wait to prepare to move, taking only with them what they could carry.

"Use benches as cots!" Éowyn called, pointing to two women who were frantically standing in the middle of the floor, moving this way and that but not knowing what to do. "Come, we need to move!"

"No one gets left behind!" Lothíriel cried, picking up her skirts as she moved toward the great wooden doors leading to the inner level. She paused to listen, for the sounds of battle were near, and she sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening that her brother remained safe.

"Move quickly!" She chastened a gaggle of small children who were huddling by the doors to listen to the tumult, their mothers hard at work to help with the chaos.

She began to herd people toward the entrance of the caves, making sure none that lived were left for the orcs. A pounding on the door began in heavy tandem and she had to force herself to ignore it, lest the fright of it all crash down and send her spiraling. For what felt like hours she helped with the sick, moving them into the hollowed halls of the Glittering Caves, with Éowyn managing those who were already there to ready to press onward once they were all safely beyond the doors.

"My lady!"

Lothíriel spun, her dirtied gown fluttering about her aching legs, to face a charging Éothain who was headed straight for her.

"Éothain!" Lothíriel readily recognized the second-in-command to Éomer, though she became fright-stricken when she noticed he looked severely bloody and limped on one leg. She quickly calculated that he didn't seem to be in any other distress; certainly he did not need to be down here with the wounded. "What are you doing here?"

"I bring word from the battlefield." Those close enough stopped to listen and a gentle hush fell throughout the stone hall. Lothíriel clasped her hands tightly together and waited with bated breath as he continued.

"The dawn has come and with it the White Wizard, bringing Éomer, Erkenbrand, and his riders! Even now they are charging the field, ridding the Hornburg of the host of Saruman!"

Tears sprang to her eyes and for the first time over the last many hours they were tears of joy.

"Éowyn!" Lothíriel called, before reaching out to Éothain to clutch his arm. "Thank you, thank you for coming to us."

He nodded and she whirled on her feet, running through the doors to the Glittering Caves.

"All is not lost!" she cried, tears streaming down her face as she passed women and children. "Reinforcements have come; the tide of battle is changing!"

At the sound of Lothíriel's voice Éowyn lifted her head, her eyes growing wide as dinner plates as Lothíriel threw herself into Éowyn's arms.

"Gandalf is here and he has brought Éomer and his éored, as well as other reinforcements!" She pulled back to grip Éowyn by the shoulders, smiling tearfully at her friend. "We have been saved!"

A cheer echoed throughout the caves, sending a ripple of elation to bubble up within Lothíriel. She laughed as Éowyn caught her up in another tight hug and the two women went spinning happily. Many hands came to fall on their backs, offering words of thanks and jubilation, and the women soon pulled apart to face each other once more. They shared a smile, a tired smile, though one of utter relief; however they both knew that their job was far from over on this new day.

With her blue eyes glittering in the flickering torchlight Éowyn reiterated the sentiment, and over the din of the triumphant commotion that now reverberated throughout the cavern it was the most beautiful sentence Lothíriel ever heard uttered.

"We are saved."


	9. Chapter 9: And so the Stars Align

**Chapter Nine: And so the Stars Align**

With the fortress secure and the Deeping Coomb rid of the orc filth that had plagued it, order was slowly restored to the keep. Enemy carcasses were hauled to be set afire in pits outside of the ravine, men were reunited with their families, and the valiant dead piled in wagons for the return journey to Edoras. Lothíriel was not able to sleep until well into the day the battle ended, and slept through the following day to wake up early in the morning on the next. She had been shown to a room on the lord's level above the great hall, and only after securing the knowledge that her brother lived did she retire in complete and utter exhaustion to her borrowed chambers.

She awoke to find a tub had been rolled into her room at some point, and was eager to bathe the stench of hard labor and others' blood from her skin. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched, her limbs sore from being disused for however many hours she had slept.

_A sleep I well deserved_, she thought, rising to her feet. Her injured foot surged hotly with pain before settling into a dull ache, and then fading into mere annoyance that Lothíriel attributed to muscle strain and disuse. She didn't spare the limb a glance as she yawned and thought, _and at last, it is over._

The princess was no fool though; she knew this was but one battle that had to be won. There would be more to come, and never in one thousand lifetimes would she ever imagine that her little selfish ideation of adventure would turn into all that she had encountered thus far. She was in the thick of it now, _definitely no going back_, and remembering her vow to live out every moment to its fullest she set her resolve with the a sleepy smile.

Her injured foot twanged with a dull ache though nothing more as she took a hesitant step and slowly she began to make her way toward the door to her chambers to fetch a maid. She was thankful for whoever had been in to keep the fire going because the sole open window brought with it a chilly morning breeze, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

Yawning widely, Lothíriel opened the door and stuck her head over the threshold to call for a servant. She raised a hand to push her tangled hair over her shoulder as she looked left and then right and suddenly came face to face with a chest.

"Oh!" Lothíriel stepped back in alarm, bringing a hand to her throat as her eyes rose to see the face the chest belonged to. "Oh!"

Recognition hit her like a hammer to an anvil; before her stood Éomer, son of Éomund, dressed in a simple tunic of green and a pair of breeches of brown leather. His head was bent and he was absorbed in the task of tying a scabbard about his waist, his long, wavy blond hair falling over his lean shoulders to brush his chest and partially obscure his face, none the wiser that he had been about to run into her. His head flew up then; brown eyes unlike the shape of Éowyn's by being slightly more narrow and angled to the point it almost made him look indifferent to any situation widened as they took in her blushing form. Lothíriel slowly became more than aware of the fact that she was a bedraggled, filthy mess dressed in nothing but a thin white shift that was too small for her and bore her dirty bare feet.

"My lord!" She fell into a deep curtsy, one her legs almost wouldn't support. She rose unsteadily, backing over the threshold to pull the door to shield her. "I'm sorry, I did not see you there."

Éomer merely stared at her, pink lips slightly open in muteness. His face was clean-shaven save the mustache and short trimmed beard he sported that matched the color of his fair hair. _He smells nice_, Lothíriel thought dumbly, staring at the wide expanse of his chest and thick, coiled tendons of his neck. His face was a slender oval and his nose lean and straight. His chest rose and fell swiftly and Lothíriel was almost lost in captivation before she abruptly realized she was staring, causing her embarrassment to manifest in a mottled staining of red across her cheeks.

"My lady," Éomer seemed to recover from the surprise that had ailed him and bowed low before her. He was tall, taller than she, and without all the padding of his armor Lothíriel noticed he was still well built. Lean but lithe, toned tanned muscle peeked out at her from under the gaping tie at his throat and her heart suddenly began to stutter through the beats as her mouth went dry.

_Never in my life…_

"I was looking for a servant." Lothíriel felt the need to explain, hastily bringing a hand to her hair. _Do I look as unkempt as I feel?_ She began to smooth her locks, though reason tried to tell her Éomer could not see much of her beyond the shield of the door and all that he had seen was humiliating enough and there was no hope for salvaging her crumbling pride now. "I would like a bath."

"A bath." Éomer's eyes flickered to the tub resting in front of the hearth before moving back to Lothíriel. They trailed slowly from her face to her heaving chest, to her quivering legs, to land on her bare feet, one bandaged. Back up his eyes came, still as slowly, and Lothíriel noticed they stilled on her chest for longer than they should.

Her cheeks deepened in color even more, if that were possible, and her reason yet again spoke loud and true screaming that no man should ever look at an unmarried woman in that manner. She should tell him as such, she well knew, but Lothíriel was for once in her life very much speechless. True, if the maneuver had been preformed by anyone else it would've enraged her; with Éomer, embers in the very core of her soul glowed bright and hot, stoked by the flames of fiery brown eyes that left her utterly breathless.

_By the gods, he is handsome…_

"I will fetch one for you; it is early yet. A servant, that is." Éomer bowed again and brusquely walked off without anymore utterance than that.

Lothíriel was glad to be rid of his presence because she hadn't been aware she had been holding her breath. It rushed out of her as she shut the door behind her and leaned against the course wood and bolts of iron, closing her eyes. Her mouth was still dry and she wet her lips with her tongue, her heart beginning to calm little by little, beat by beat.

_So that is Éowyn's brother. _She smiled, the embers in her soul sprouting to low flame. _The famous Éomer._

* * *

Éomer paused at the end of the hall on the lord's level, suddenly realizing that he was not breathing. He let out a big rush of air but still his heart thundered, his veins pounding with every beat that sounded through him.

_The princess Lothíriel_, his heart stuttered on a beat and he shook his head, still unable to get her image from his mind.

Even wrought with sleep, her hair still caked with tangles and blood, and dressed in nothing but a thin shift, princess Lothíriel was the most beautiful woman he could ever recall. The lady Galadriel could not even begin to compare and Lady Arwen fell far beneath the loveliness the princess exuded. And their beauty was renowned both far and wide!

Éomer drug a hand across his mouth, cursing his mind and his unabashedly lewd perusal of the young woman. This was no common wench! Daughter to one of Rohan's greatest allies was Lothíriel, and yet he had looked at her with blatant wantonness and immediately _wanted her_, very badly indeed. And he was sure his desire had been very plain on his face if the blush on her cheeks had been any indication.

_What is wrong with me? _Éomer's chastised himself, and he forced his limbs to move once more. _I am more composed than this_.

But if truth were to be told, her face had haunted him many nights. Her beauty had plagued him, for even when she lay in his arms unmoving she had called to him. Seeing her now, barefoot and barely awake, she had been stunning. He had been rooted to the spot, unable to move or barely utter a single word.

She was tall, though not as tall as he, and indeed slim. He couldn't help (all right, he could have if he wanted to) noticing that she was ample where it counted the most and her hips swelled comely enough beneath the shift. Her hair had fallen in a blanket of ebon to her waist, straight as a pin and, he knew from experience, lush and thick. _How would the texture compare when clean and sweet-smelling? _He could only imagine what she would look like refreshed and in proper lady's attire.

_Or even… _He cut his mind's wandering to the quick; he would not go there.

His body however, had different plans, and he had to shift himself subtlety. And in no time too, because a servant rounded the corner yawning widely.

"The princess Lothíriel would like a bath." He hastily instructed the servant to distract himself from his guilty thoughts. Upon realizing how that may sound he quickly amended, "I was not with her, I happened upon her in the hall. Nothing more." He scowled. _Since when do I explain myself?_

The servant merely curtsied, simply too tired to be moved by his admonishments, and turned to face where she had come from to do his bidding.

_She's probably hungry_, Éomer thought suddenly and raised a hand to call for the servant to stop.

"Tell the lady breakfast will be served at eight."

The servant, who had turned to face him, curtsied again and prepared to embark to do as ordered.

_Does she have a change of clothes? I wonder if there are any in storage here._ When Éomer called the servant back once more the maid turned slowly, a glower marring her weathered features.

"Yes, my lord?"

"See to it she has fresh clothes…and slippers, too." Éomer added hastily, smiling smugly at his own intuitiveness.

The servant curtsied shortly, but before she could move off Éomer called her back once more as he thought, s_he'll probably like to see my sister too; Éowyn has been waiting for her to awaken. They have grown into fast friends._

The maid turned with a stony look on her face but deemed to stay quiet.

"Alert my sister that the princess is awake. But give the princess ample time to bathe. I would wait an hour. Maybe more." _How long do women take to bathe? _"Maybe less."

The maid turned, but one more time Éomer called her to halt. The woman stilled and turned slower still, her cheeks now mottled with her annoyance.

"My lord?"

"Tell the Princess that lord Éomer is eager to meet her _proper _acquaintance; I have heard many great things about her."

The maid curtsied and hurried away, not once looking back. Proud and satisfied that he had seen to all of Lothíriel's possible wishes he strode for the dining hall, a slight extra spring to his step.

* * *

Lothíriel was just finishing the most pleasing bath she had ever had in her life when a soft knock sounded on the door. Submerged from the neck down by water and enjoying the gentle scrub of the maid's hands through her hair, Lothíriel called, "Who is it?" with her eyes still closed and her body thrumming with the gentle soothes of tranquility.

"Éowyn; may I enter?"

"At your own risk." Lothíriel called with a smile, but did not move from her position.

The door opened slowly and Éowyn peeked in her head, instantly contrite when she saw her friend poised in the tub.

"I didn't mean to disturb you; I can come back later."

"No, I think we are all about finished here." Lothíriel opened her eyes and smiled at Éowyn who ducked into the room and closed the door behind her. She moved to sit on the bed and kept her eyes on her hands as Lothíriel rose from the tub and the maid wrapped her in a warm, linen robe.

"Thank you Freya." Lothíriel ducked her head in appreciation to the maid. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Are you sure my lady? You do not need help with your gown?"

Lothíriel smiled. "I'm sure Éowyn will be willing to lace me up if I require it, thank you."

Freya ducked into a deep curtsy and took her leave, shutting the door quietly behind her. When the maid had come bustling into the room with a pile of drying cloths and a trail of servants behind her only an hour before, she had looked flustered and seemed short-tempered, and Lothíriel was eager to be rid of her tumultuous presence and, Lothíriel suspected, her prying ears and eyes.

_"That lord Éomer, barking orders so early in the morning. He called me back four times!"_

_ If she were a hen Lothíriel was sure her feathers would ruffle, and she had to stifle a giggle as Freya helped her into the bathing tub._

_ "He bid me deliver a message to you: that he is eager to meet your proper acquaintance and he has heard much about you. Though I don't know what he could mean by proper acquaintance."_ _The maid carried on with her titter, but Lothiriel was lost to her own musings._

He is eager to meet me, is he?

_ She knew Freya was looking for gossip but Lothíriel ignored her and instead sunk deep into the blissful heaven that was her lavender-scented bath, a small smile lighting her features at the thought of the dashing lord Éomer._

"I only came to see if you wanted to go to breakfast with me." Éowyn said as Lothíriel ducked behind the privacy curtain where her borrowed dress and slippers were waiting.

"That would be lovely." Lothíriel quickly dropped the linen robe and pulled on the cream shift that she would wear beneath the crimson gown left for her by Freya. Her belly rumbled as she pulled the straps of the shift over her shoulders and reached for the dress next. It was plain linen, but embroidered with golden leaves and twigs around the square neck and hem. The cuffs were wide and dipped down to the floor, but the dress itself was a bit too loose around the waist and too far from the ground to hide her slippered feet. She had decided to forgo a new bandage to her foot; the wound ached every so often but the lacerations themselves had sealed and hardened. The skin felt a little tight to Lothíriel but because there was no pain she discarded the notion and instead kept what she considered a healed wound open to air; after all, it felt well enough. "I am near starved."

"You slept for almost two days." Éowyn remarked as Lothíriel stepped from behind the divider, her arms spread wide to show her dismay and the ill-fitting gown. Éowyn giggled. "It will have to do. I looked hard with Freya but you are simply too gangly to dress."

Lothíriel scowled at her friend, picking up a comb that Freya had left on a nearby table. She sat down on the bed before Éowyn and thrust the comb at her. "Here. Make up for the way you are talking to me after not having seen me for days."

"At least it is a pretty color; scarlet becomes you."

Lothíriel stuck her tongue out at Éowyn and then turned and closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle ministrations of the comb passing from her scalp through her locks. _It feels good to be clean again._

"Has anything happened while I've been hibernating?" Lothíriel asked, rousing another laugh from Éowyn.

"Not much. Théoden has ordered a return to Edoras; he realized belatedly that we will be better protected and prepared there. We leave in two day's time."

Lothíriel sighed dramatically. "My poor behind knows no rest."

"At least it will be pleasantly shaped when you return home to Dol Amroth. Think of how many suitors you will have then."

"I daresay a courtly lady such as yourself should not speak to another like that!" Lothíriel teased as Éowyn set aside the comb and began to plait her hair.

"If you think the ladies of Rohan courtly then you have not met many of their acquaintance." Éowyn replied, causing Lothíriel to smile.

"You all are rotten heathens then, bent on warmongering and drinking copious amounts of ale?"

"Completely and utterly barbaric." Éowyn swatted her shoulder and Lothíriel laughed. The ladies stood and Éowyn laced Lothíriel's gown as tightly as she could before entwining their arms and heading to the hall to break their fast.

* * *

The great hall was a flurry of movement but the atmosphere was relaxed and happy. Light poured in from the open doors leading to the inner level where people were coming and going, and Lothíriel could hear the sound of birds chirping happily on the wind. A cool summer breeze fluttered through the hall, ruffling the tapestries and causing the candles in the candelabras and the torches to flicker. Already the high table was full; Théoden sat in the center with Éomer to his right and Aragorn to his left. Amrothos sat beside Éomer and next to him were two empty seats which Lothíriel and Éowyn filled with appreciative nods to the guards that seated them. Next to Aragorn was Gandalf, followed by Legolas and Gimli, and Lothíriel sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods for returning her companions to her safely and soundly.

"We will be better prepared at Edoras." Aragorn was saying as Lothíriel reached for the buttered rolls and loaded two onto her plate. Her stomach was a constant rumble now, disgruntled for having been ignored for so long. "It is far enough away from Isengard that we can prepare for an attack."

"We will double the border guard." Éomer interjected as Théoden nodded.

"We never should have left." He admonished, though no one stood forth to agree; it was enough that the king was admitting to his own mistake.

"What of you, Amrothos? Are you to return home to Dol Amroth?" Legolas bent forward over his place to ask her brother.

Lothíriel stilled from piling her plate with pork to listen to her brother's reply. She tilted her head ever so slightly, daring even to cast her gaze to him under long lashes. He had a mug of steaming tea to his lips, but he shook his head.

"I think my father would deem it wiser that we stay put; it is no longer safe to be traveling with small bands of riders and I cannot ask you to spare men for such a simple journey." His gaze flickered to her then and Lothíriel hastily continued to pile food onto her plate, moving to the plums next. His next words, she got the feeling, were more for her than anyone else. "I haven't heard from him though I have sent word by way of hawk of all that has transpired."

"I think that is very sensible, yes." Gandalf agreed, puffing on a pipe that was long enough to touch the table before him.

"Once we get to Edoras we will secure a plan of battle." Théoden said, and Lothíriel started in on the rolls on her plate to spread them liberally with jam, though she listened with both ears open.

"Gondor needs to be warned of the enemy." Aragorn remarked, settling into his high-backed chair as a servant cleared his plate. "We have heard no news from Denethor."

"The coastal cities will have been warned by now; almost a fortnight ago my father sent out riders to both Anfalas and Minas Tirith." Amrothos replied.

"With all that has been going on in the east would riders have made it that far?" Aragorn asked. "Those lands have been blackened by Sauron long before his orcs have crossed over our borders."

"Aye, a valid point." Gimli agreed.

Amrothos turned a troubled gaze to his plate and Lothíriel knew him in that moment to be deeply worried. Elphir had ridden to Minas Tirith, but what would Denethor do? Madness had touched her uncle not long after her precious aunt had died, and the death of his beloved Boromir would've shaken the very foundation on which his sanity precariously teetered.

"There has to be another way." Aragorn spoke, his voice ringing with urgency.

"I will hear no more on this matter." Théoden quickly cut in, and more than one frustrated gaze was exchanged Lothíriel noticed. She watched as Théoden rose from his seat, his goblet in his hand. "Let us first focus on returning to Edoras with our people. We have many to mourn, and I think a small celebration for our victory and the courageous men and elves who gave their lives is in order upon our return to the Golden Hall." He turned his eyes to Éowyn and Lothíriel then, and Lothíriel hastily swallowed the mouthful of sweetened dough in her mouth.

"Our ladies here did an excellent job organizing the women and children and seeing to the wounded." Théoden smiled, lifting his goblet in their direction. The rest of the men followed suit as Éowyn beamed happily and Lothíriel blushed, though a smile lit her features. "Your deeds of valor have not fallen on deaf ears; the townspeople thank you for your quick thinking and helpful hands."

After they had all drank to the ladies Legolas said, "Not many women could do what you two had accomplished on that fateful day."

"The courage of dwarves I tell you!" Gimli resounded, causing the two women to titter happily.

"You both were very brave and the people of Rohan are most appreciative." Éomer said, his eyes turning to meet Lothíriel's. "It says a lot about someone who cares without question for those who are not her own. Tales of your kind words and soothing smile have rippled without cease through the ranks."

"That is not even her most impressive feat," Éowyn interjected with a playful nudge to Lothíriel's ribs. "She took down a warg and his rider with only three arrows!"

"What!" A chorus of concerned shouts nearly turned Lothíriel deaf and she winced when Amrothos sprang from his chair next to her, and next to him Éomer rose as well, his hands clutching the edge of the table.

"What?"

"When did this happen?"

"Were you hurt?"

"Why did you not say!"

Gandalf chuckled and leaned back in his chair as Gimli hooted with mirth.

"Surely you noticed the dead warg on the Great West Road?" Lothíriel remarked, all at once striving for lightness to avoid all the angry stares and kicking Éowyn under the table unmercifully.

"Lothíriel, you could've been hurt!" Amorothos choked out, falling back into his chair. Hastily, as if realizing he was standing too, Lothíriel watched as Éomer dropped back into his seat, his jaw hanging open.

"Oh come now! I am the most prized archer of Dol Amroth!" Lothíriel said haughtily, causing her brother's face to blacken. Éomer grinned then, letting out a hoot of laughter of his own.

"Lothíriel…"

"Really, Amrothos, what did you expect me to do? Shout for help? Faint to the ground? I did that once; it bid me no good. Besides, what use would I have been then?" Lothíriel turned her attention back to her meal, holding her head high. "I owed that devil a little piece of revenge for what his brethren had done to me anyway."

"Sister, if I am not bested by these orcs then you will surely be the death of me."

"Aye, you told me."

Laughter ensued and the mood lightened once more, and breakfast was carried out with pleasant conversation and peals of humor. It was a nice change to talk about something trivial and enjoyable rather than war and death. Lothíriel ate two meals worth of her breakfast and listened to the conversation flow as she sipped her tea.

After a while the men began to excuse themselves; Gandalf and Aragorn went to take a turn about the fortress while Gimli and Legolas planned to visit the barracks to see if any of the soldiers wanted to spar. After wringing a promise from Lothíriel that she would behave Amrothos joined them, flashing a look of warning over his shoulder at her which she, in turn, rolled her eyes at. Théoden stood then, and Éomer with him, and beckoned to Éowyn.

"I'm going to return to my study to make the departure plans. Éowyn I would ask your advice on the journey concerning the women and children."

Éowyn nodded and Lothíriel set down her empty mug, pushing back her chair. "Would you like me to come?"

"No, please; you are a guest here." Éowyn laid a hand on her shoulder as she rose to meet her uncle. "Explore the fortress and we will meet at the noon meal."

Lothíriel nodded and rose from the table, sweeping her skirts out from the chair.

"I shall accompany you, if that is all right Théoden King?" Éomer interjected.

Lothíriel's heart quickened and she faltered, her feet tripping over one another. She grabbed her chair hastily, but Éowyn caught the movement and frowned at her friend though her eyes sparkled. Lothíriel quickly ducked her head and cleared her throat, busying herself with pushing her chair to the table.

_Accompany me? _She grabbed her plaited hair and began to fray at the tips before she realized what she was doing and hastily stowed the braid down her back. _He wants to accompany me?_

"I am sure uncle and I can handle it." Éowyn said, slipping her arm along Théoden's. She smiled at Lothíriel and then turned her gaze to Théoden. "It will be nice for Lothíriel to have a guide."

"All right then; we will see you at the noon meal." Théoden acquiesced, and together he and Éowyn moved away from the high table.

"My lady?" Éomer bowed slightly, offering his arm to the princess. Cursing her cheeks for the blush that stole upon them, Lothíriel took his arm and together they glided across the stone floor to the double doors leading to the inner level.

"Is there anywhere in particular you would like to visit first?"

Thinking of Firebreather suddenly, Lothíriel nodded. "The stables, I think."

"A horse master, then? Shall I add that to your growing list of titles?" Éomer grinned down at her, causing Lothíriel's blush to deepen. "Archer queen, sharp-tongued harpy, devourer of biscuits…"

"Devourer of—!" Lothíriel gasped, turning flashing, grey eyes up to Éomer. "How dare you!" _He saw me inhaling my breakfast! How mortifying!_

Éomer threw his head back in laughter as they crossed the threshold into the streaming sunlight of the fortress.

"I was hungry!" Lothíriel said hotly, trying desperately to explain her actions.

"I jest, my lady." Éomer said lightly, but Lothíriel turned her nose up to him as they descended the stairs. Silently she prayed for more nimble feet, all the while blushing through her suddenly rampant thoughts.

_The nerve!_

"There is nothing wrong with a healthy appetite, though I daresay a gentle flower such as yourself cannot weigh more than a sack of grain."

"A sack of grain!" Lothíriel pulled him to a stop and whirled in a flash of crimson skirts, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Éomer had the mind to look rather ashamed of his thoughtless comment, but Lothíriel showed no mercy.

"Really, my dear lord Éomer, you need to work on your etiquette concerning the female gender! One should _never_ compare a lady to anything lackluster, least of all a _sack of grain_!" Her words held no heat; she spoke merely out of embarrassment for herself.

"I will readily admit that was unwisely uttered." Éomer amended, showing her a short bow of remorse though lines of laughter danced around his lips. "I will strive to better my efforts in the future."

Lothíriel huffed and grabbed her skirts to move on, but a smile still stole its way onto her features. She found herself quite liking the quick wit of the Marshal, uttered in that deep, resonating voice of his. In the space of a few heartbeats she found herself forgiving his untidy comments, though she never had been truly mad in the first place.

_He thinks me a gentle flower…_

* * *

Éomer watched her walk from him, her too short skirts bunched in tiny fists of soft skin. He shivered at the remembrance of the feel of her hand gliding along his sleeve to rest at his wrist, her fingers gently curling around his cuff. Her touch had been light yet brought a warmth to his soul that he still could not shake.

She moved with the grace of a queen, her head held high and gait short yet smooth. Storm-grey, almond-shaped eyes had peered out from under long, thick lashes of the darkest ebony, and sculpted brows had given away to high, porcelain cheek bones. Her skin was fair, though having been marred by the glare of the sun it was still tainted with streaks of red and peeling skin. The stain spread across the small bridge of an adorable button nose, accompanying a smattering of freckles along the slender ridge. Dusky pink lips formed a delicate cupid's bow and spoke words of humor and elegance, revealing a set of straight white teeth. Her stark jaw gave away to a long, creamy neck, which in turn melted into a bosom to make any man's mouth water. Indeed her waist was trim and decorated with the thick plait of her black hair, though her hips flared and gave way to long legs and slender ankles bared neatly for his hungry gaze. The latter winked at him from beneath the golden hem of her gown, stirring a fire within his chest. His eyes trailed back up, to her very lush derriere, swaying and teasing him from afar.

She stopped abruptly and he had to quickly pull his gaze to her face as she rounded on him, hands on her hips.

"Well, are you going to show me the way or not?" she demanded, though a hint of a smile rested on those most perfect lips.

_The fairest indeed_, he decided, moving to catch up with her, his long legs eating up the distance in few strides.

"I thought you had dismissed me."

"I'm giving you a second chance to amend your hedonist ways." Lothíriel quipped with a smug smile, holding out her arm for him to take. Readily he did so, enjoying her light teasing, and together they walked through the courtyard to the other side of the keep where the stables resided.

"What are we to find at the stables?" Éomer asked, nodding to this person and that. Many people stopped to bow at the pair and more than once a word of thanks was shared with both him and the princess.

"My horse." Lothíriel sighed. "I do not know what has become of my dear Firebreather."

"Firebreather?" Éomer remarked as the stables came into view. "That sounds like the name of a warhorse."

"He is a very fine one at that." Lothíriel said proudly. "When I stole into my brother's company to come to Edoras I could not bring my mare lest I be found. I had to take a warhorse to ride and Firebreather and I became fast friends."

Éomer chuckled. Éowyn had told him a very short version of the exploits of the free-spirited princess and he did not fail to see the similarities between the two women. It was no wonder they had became so close so quickly. "I would like to hear of your tales of adventure hidden in your brother's company someday."

Lothíriel pulled her gaze up to him, an inquisitive look to her captivating eyes. "Really?"

Blinded by mere fascination at the way her eyes changed from the light colors of a mourning dove's feathers to ever-changing shades of an oncoming storm, he could only nod. The smile that he was rewarded with stole his thoughts, but it was the blush that followed that rendered him a complete and absolute fool.

"My own horse is named Firefoot." Éomer told her after the silence stretched for long enough. They were at the stables now and were greeted by the master himself. "Hobard, greetings."

"Greetings lord Éomer. What can I do for the princess and you this morn?"

"I am looking for a horse." Lothíriel spoke up then, and Éomer couldn't help but notice the hope that was underlying in her tone. "He is an all black mount, about nineteen hands, with a very long mane and tail, and tufts of feathered hair about his feet."

"A big fellow then?" The aged stable master asked and Lothíriel nodded. "He wouldn't happen to be the devil himself, would he?"

Éomer's heart stuttered as Lothíriel grinned broadly. "He is here, then?"

"Aye, and he hasn't given my lads a moment's peace. Always knocking about his stall or upturning his water. Poor Fíowen almost lost an arm trying to feed him."

"May I see him please?" Lothíriel pulled her arm from Éomer's and he couldn't help but take note of the subtle leech of warmth that went with its absence.

"My lady I do not think that very wise. He is nigh uncontrollable."

"He prefers the open fields rather than a cage, that is why. Please, Master Hobard, I promise you that I will take great care with him."

Hobard looked at Éomer and he nodded, and Lothíriel took off like an arrow. He smiled as she whisked into the stable, skirts clutched in her hands to free her feet. He noticed she limped every so often and he frowned, deeming to ask her of her injury later. He followed her to the back of the stable where indeed the loud knocking of an angry hoof against a wooden stall could be heard.

"Firebreather!" Her voice held the chorus of jubilance, and the laugh that followed was enough to leave him entranced, as if the sound were laced with elf-magic. "There you are! I told you I would come back for you!"

A loud neigh rent the air causing unrest among the other mounts. Éomer came to a stop behind Lothíriel who was lovingly stroking the muzzle of the steed, who in turn was whickering and nudging her shoulder affectionately.

"I have missed you too." She told the horse, running a hand down his neck. Éomer crossed his arms and watched the exchange with a smile on his face.

"A horse master indeed." He said, causing her to look at him from over her shoulder.

"I'm afraid not." She admitted with a smile. "I know little of horses."

"You seem to have tamed him well, for he is a tall beast. He looks much like my own Firefoot." An idea dawned on Éomer as he watched Lothíriel stroke the creature. "You know when I was but a boy, Théodred and I deemed it a good idea to let a crop of new foals free. We only wanted to see how many we could corral with our own mounts, but the entire herd was lost. Théoden rued the day we were born and I will never forget the whipping that followed. I wonder if he is one of the lost mounts?"

Lothíriel giggled at the story, and had turned fully to face him as she caressed Firebreather from over her shoulder. His large head craned over her shoulder and he bumped her cheek, nearly sending her to the hay-strewn floor. Éomer dropped his arms and moved to catch her, but Lothíriel merely laughed and rubbed her face against the horse's as she caught her own balance.

"He is quite unruly. He gave me a very hard time on the journey to Rohan." She patted him lovingly though, and the horse's eyes seemed to glow at the show of fondness. "Is your Firefoot as equally poorly mannered?"

"Indeed," Éomer agreed, stepping toward the front of the stable. "Come, I will show him to you."

Lothíriel ran her hand up to Firebreather's forelock and gave him a quick scratch beneath his wild tuft of hair. "I will see to it that you are made a spot outside. I know you long for the open air."

Firebreather tossed his mighty head and neighed loudly when she moved on, causing Lothíriel to blow a kiss over her shoulder at the stallion. Éomer's gut clenched tightly and he had to force himself not to focus on the way her bow-shaped lips puckered.

Next to Snowmane they found Firefoot, who had curiously poked his head out of the stall at all the ruckus. When Éomer approached he thrust his head at him, tossing his ebony locks in excitement. Lothíriel laughed as Éomer produced an apple and the horse readily took the treat, sending bits of the fruit to fall to the floor.

"He looks much like Firebreather." She reached out a hand to stroke the soft hair of his mane, but Firefoot turned to snap at her.

"Ho!" Éomer chastised, stepping to shield the maiden. "That was very uncalled for, Firefoot!

"He is unaccustomed to you. Here." He took the last apple from his pocket and then reached for her hand, placing the apple in it before cradling her flesh in the palm of his own. His skin sparked with the force of a thunderbolt at the contact, but still he moved closer to stand behind her and guide her hand with the apple to Firefoot's mouth.

"Easy," he spoke gently to Firefoot, though he willed his own soul to calm as well. Her back brushed lightly against his front, pushing against the strong wall of his chest with every breath she took. She trembled ever so slightly against him and he tightened his hand around her own as Firefoot dropped his head, his brown eyes meeting hers.

"Do not let him think you afraid." Éomer dropped his lips to play against her hair and he could not help but to inhale her scent. Lavender beckoned to him and he felt his body ease, sidling closer to hers. "He is a warhorse, bred to scent fear."

"I am not afraid." The princess sounded breathless, though she flattened her palm and offered the apple. Firefoot, under Éomer's harsh gaze, dropped his big head and wrapped greedy horse lips around the apple, devouring it in a single bite.

And for one blessed moment Lothíriel did not move in his arms. Éomer allowed his eyes to close, if only for a sole breath, to revel in the feel of her body against his own.

"You know much about horses." Lothíriel stepped away from him abruptly, taking all of her womanly warmth with her; Éomer missed it as soon as it was gone and not a heartbeat after. She stood next to him a few paces away, her hands clasped before her and her head turned to look at Firefoot; however the maneuver was not enough to shield the fierce blush that touched her shapely cheeks from Éomer's ravenous eyes.

"Yes," _Since when is my voice that gruff? _He cleared his throat and tried desperately not to concentrate on the way the sun made her hair shine blue-black in its rays. "I am, after all, of the Rohirrim."

"I would like to know more." Lothíriel turned her head to face him, a small albeit unsure smile shaping her lips. "If you are willing to teach?"

All thought left him then. The look of utterly hopeful innocence on her face was enough to bring a lesser man to his knees. With the sun highlighting her delicate features, her hair swaying gently in the breeze, and her grey eyes twinkling with pleasure, it was the purest form of beauty he had ever seen.

"Aye, I would like that very much."


	10. Chapter 10: Of Memories Past

**Chapter Ten: Of Memories Past**

"Where would you have me lead you now my lady?" Éomer asked Lothíriel. She had just finished giving precise orders to Master Hobard that Firebreather should be moved to the training ring, that he liked his water cool and fresh, and the way to tame his rampant heart was through apples. Éomer had laughed as the stable master, looking disgruntled, had bowed to the princess and bid to do as she indicated.

"I am tired of being inside; will you take me to the fields surrounding the keep? I want to see where such brave men fought and lost their lives." Her heart ached for the number of soldiers that had died in her arms, gasping their dying wishes to her.

_And I shall never forget a single one, _she had vowed.

As they walked arm in arm Éomer glanced down at Lothíriel, a mar to his stern brow. "It has not been cleared of the…bodies…my lady. There is much carnage yet."

"I know." she replied softly, pulling Éomer to a stop as they walked by the battlements. The sun shone brightly but the air was rank with the smell of burning carcasses and old blood. Her eyes roamed the field where the Battle of the Hornburg took place. She let her emotions, from pain to loss to disbelief to shock and many more to burn through her, as her heart clenched in tandem with her throat. Piles and piles of enemy corpses burned low, giving off thick smoke that was thankfully carried away from the keep. There were tall ladders lying in ruins on the ground, and too many abandoned bows, swords, and spears to count. Orc armor that had been discarded from their counterpart's bodies was thrown into large pits, as well as some remains, to be buried and forgotten. There were many men working under the hot sun, laboring to rid the ravine of the leftovers of battle.

"I heard that a strange device caused part of the Deepening Wall to collapse." Lothíriel said quietly. "It was said that was then they thought the battle had turned for the worst."

Éomer gently took her elbow and guided her closer to the edge of the wall, nodding toward the bane of the battle. Lothíriel swallowed the lump of dread in her throat when indeed she saw a gaping hole in the center of the towering, once formidable but now decimated wall.

"I was not there to see it, but those who did said it was like a giant fireball followed by a deafening explosion that shook the night."

"Yes; we felt it in the caves. We did not know what had transpired, but not long after we were told to prepare to make for the paths under the mountain." Lothíriel said, pulling Éomer away from the destroyed wall to head for the main entry to Helm's Deep.

"I don't think your brother would be very pleased to find out that I took you to the battlefield." Éomer tried to lighten the mood with a smile, and Lothíriel rolled her eyes with a very unladylike snort.

"He caused me much strife when we were children; if anything I am making up for all the lost time." Lothíriel grinned up at the Marshal who laughed, a low rumble like thunder that sent shivers from the tips of her toes to the very ends of her fingers.

"I will admit I am lucky it is not my brother Elphir. He likes to act as my second father." Lothíriel scowled, shaking her head in disgust. "And the first confines me enough as it is."

Éomer laughed as they crossed the threshold of the keep and began to walk to the narrow stone bridge to the battlefield. "And yet you still remain quite willful; or so I hear."

Lothíriel scoffed, turning mirthfully light eyes up to the lord. "Really, I thought you were going to work on your etiquette!"

"I'm beginning to think you bring the worst out in me, princess." Éomer remarked and Lothíriel could not help but laugh.

"And I am beginning to think there is no hope for your manners." Lothíriel quipped, causing Éomer to lay a hand to his heart in mock injury.

"I am no match for your sharp tongue!"

Lothíriel tossed back her head and laughed, the sound riding the wind like the melody of the gods. "If only every man were intimidated so easily!"

She decided to broach a different subject then and said, "I'm sad to hear I missed the procession of the elves back to their homeland. I would've liked to see them march in all of their glory." As they walked she tried not to notice how the stone bridge was stained with the taint of black orc blood and scarlet streaks of human.

"It was a sad thing to behold; they lost many, including their commander. Haldir I think his name was. They sang a woeful lament as they crossed the bridge and disappeared into the night." Éomer recounted, gently guiding Lothíriel from stone to dirt.

Lothíriel noticed the smell was a lot more pungent on the field and she suddenly wished she hadn't eaten so much for breakfast. Her stomach churned to and fro, but she forced it to still and held her head high. As they began to walk across the field many of the men stopped to bow, but Lothíriel quickly dismissed all formalities with a gentle slash of her hand. These men did not need to bow to her; it was they who deserved the greatest of praise for risking their lives for their realm only to live and bury their brethren the following day. Not even the shining of the sun could lighten the feeling of despair that hung heavy over the field, and more than once Lothíriel saw faces streaked with tears, heard open wails of agony. There were some women and children wandering the field looking for lost loved ones, maybe even a fallen trinket. She had to look away from the few that were there; her heart could only take so much.

"Are you all right my lady?" Éomer asked softly, bringing his other hand to lie on top of hers. It was then Lothíriel noticed she was clutching his sleeve, her knuckles stark white against the green of his tunic.

"It is just very sad." She replied, lending Éomer a somber smile. "I couldn't imagine walking the fields looking for my brothers or father, not knowing what had become of them."

"My lady?"

The couple stilled and turned at the sound of the gruff male voice from behind and Lothíriel was confronted with a burly man who sported a bandage over one eye and another around one of his hands.

"I know you probably don't remember much of me," he started, coming out of his deep bow. "But you took care of me when I passed through the hall during the battle."

Lothíriel studied him, but could not recall his name. She had seen so many that night; had held so many hands, bandaged so many wounds, and wiped so many tears. "I'm sorry soldier, but I cannot bring to mind your name."

"I do not ask for recognition, I only want to give my thanks." His voice was coarse though his eyes shone effervescent in the bright light of the morning. "When I thought my life was slipping away you made me forget about my wounds with your kind, clever words. You gave me hope and strength and for that I will be eternally grateful." He bowed again, causing Lothíriel to blush. She stepped away from Éomer and laid a gentle hand on the soldier's shoulder, coercing him to rise.

"Please, it is not you who should be thanking me, but the other way around." She smiled up at the man who readily towered over her, his broad shoulders nearly eclipsing the keep behind him. "You fought hard to keep us women and children safe so I think we are equal in our exchange."

The soldier took her hand then and laid a chaste kiss on the back of her knuckles. Lothíriel dropped into a short curtsy while uttering, "So I thank you kind sir, for being the noble and loyal soldier every man should strive to be."

"I know you are not from these lands, but we have a saying in Rohan: in battle it is not the strongest you should fear, but the most courageous, because courage is the greatest defense. Myself, I have learned that courage is often found in the most unlikely of places. You, my lady, are a very unlikely place to find it, but ever a charming one to behold." The soldier replied before moving off to continue his work.

"There are many like him who would go spouting your great deeds for all to hear." Éomer said with a smile, once again taking Lothíriel's arm. "You have made quite the impression on your first coming to Rohan."

"I aim to please." Lothíriel jested with a mock bow, one to which Éomer laughed.

As they made their way to the hole in the Deepening Wall, Éomer had to steady her over rubble and around fallen bodies. The stench was sickening, the air thick with the heat of summer and riddled with flies, but Lothíriel wanted to experience everything there was to see of this travesty. It would do the dead dishonor not to, and so she took every headless body, forgotten limb, and splatter of blood in devastated stride. Many times she wanted to retch or turn away, but the tides of war would not be forgotten and for every man or elf she came across a silent prayer went up to the heavens for mercy on their soul.

"I would like to hear of your coming at dawn." She said to distract her stomach from twisting nervously at all the carnage. "Without you, we would've been lost."

"And without Gandalf we would've been as well. My éored and I were all the way down the Entwash where it splits into different tributaries. I didn't know where we were going from there, but it would not have been to Helm's Deep." Éomer took hold of Lothíriel's arm then as they closed in on the wall, for there was a lot more debris in this area. There was a large crater and many huge chunks of rock lying about, dead bodies festering in the light of the sun on top of and around them.

Lothíriel swatted at the flies pestering her before grabbing her skirts and heading for the hole in the wall. Éomer halted but did not let loose her arm and the lord found himself taken from her grip as she plowed on toward the ruins.

"My lady?"

Lothíriel did not wait for Éomer to catch up and indeed she had already crawled halfway up one of the bigger pieces felled from the wall.

"My lady! What are you doing!"

"Exploring the wreckage. It had to be a great contraption to cause so much damage. Look at the size of some of these pieces from the wall!" Lothíriel said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and wasn't one of the most foolish.

With a grumble against her obstinate behavior Éomer began following her as she cautiously stood to her full height to move over the unsteady surface of the stone. Lothíriel suddenly slipped with a shrill squeal, and Éomer reached forth to steady her from falling. One hand found her waist while the other hand locked around her own, his muscles taut from holding her stable. Lothíriel regained her footing and carried on, though decided creeping low to the stone was much safer as she moved on a downward slant toward the hole.

"Lady Lothíriel!" Éomer could not keep a hold on her and match her pace, but Lothíriel was too curious to linger. He scrambled after her with much fuss, though his muted curses only caused her to giggle mischievously.

"Do you not want to see? Are you not curious?" She asked though she expected no answer, for it took much concentration to maneuver over the gnarled surface of the stones.

"I can see why now your brother thinks you will be the death of him!" Éomer reached for her arm but she slipped down the stone and out of his reach, and he had to make haste to catch her, striving to mimic her stride over the rocks.

Lothíriel held her arms wide to keep her balance as she carefully made the trek over the rocks, faltering here and there. The stones got bigger and easier to maneuver, though any movement in a dress and slippers was a challenge. She slipped only once more before hopping to land in the center of the hole, the destroyed wall on either side of and above her. She spread her arms wide and still could not touch either side, and as Éomer landed in a crouch next to her she turned her face up to inspect the shattered rock wall above her.

"They must have had some instrument of witchcraft to do such damage." she remarked, spinning in a slow circle. The shadow of the wall was cloying and after a few more moments she passed through to the other side, back into the keep.

"I heard the likes of it had never before been seen on Middle Earth." Éomer replied, following her from the hollow of the wall. "And hopefully we will never see anything like it again."

"Though I think this war is far from over." Lothíriel said softly, and her heart clenched at the ominous statement.

"I think you are right, my lady."

They slowly made their way back up to the keep, Éomer once again taking her arm to lace with his own. Their conversation ebbed and flowed like water, turning from the war at hand to more trivial matters. It was interspersed with much laughter and smiles, and Lothíriel found herself very much enjoying the company of the Marshal. He could almost make her forget that she waded through carnage and destruction and the fate of the world rest in uncertain hands.

"I thank you for taking me to the fields; I will tell my brother that I forced you at arrow-point." Lothíriel smiled up at Éomer as they climbed the stairs to The Burg which would lead them to the outer level of the fortress.

"I hope I will never be on the receiving end of your arrow, archer queen." Éomer shivered for dramatics and Lothíriel laughed.

"I hardly think a man such as yourself would be scared of a frail female like me."

"A man like me? Whatever do you mean by that?" Éomer feinted hurt.

"Why, a heathen and a miscreant of course. Although your sister did remark that the lot of you Rohirrim are utterly barbaric, if I'm not mistaken." Lothíriel replied innocently as she tapped her chin with her free hand and they passed a set of guards making rounds along the battlements. The stables were coming into view and much to her pleasure Lothíriel could see that Firebreather was indeed outside in the small practice ring.

"Heathen and miscreant! You've wounded me twice now, my lady!"

"Oh all right then," She dropped his arm and swept before him, falling into a deep curtsy with an elegant flourish of her crimson skirts. "You are a veritable horse master from the mighty kingdom of Rohan, unfailingly loyal and disastrously handsome."

"Éomer!"

At the call of his name Lothíriel started and swirled to face the voice as Éomer stepped forward to place his body before her own. When they saw that it was only Éothain he relaxed, stepping back from crowding her. Lothíriel frowned. _I quite like being crowded by him._

"Marshal, Théoden King requests your presence." Éothain said after gracing Lothíriel with a quick bow.

"Tell him I will be there shortly." With another bow Éothain disembarked, headed for the core of the keep. Éomer turned back to her and Lothíriel noticed that all traces of the humor they shared were replaced by the hard lines of duty, his smile forfeit to a stern stoic visage. "I regret to beg of your leave, my lady. I will see you at the noon meal."

"Of course," Lothíriel dipped into a sincere curtsy, Éomer offering her a bow in return. "I look forward to it."

Éomer smiled shortly before moving off and Lothíriel turned to watch him go. His hair shone in the sun, glinting with streaks of dark amber and the fairest of gold. His stride was long, his presence commanding, his body a powerful force to be reckoned with. Lothíriel brought a hand to lie softly over her heart as she recalled the feel of his tanned skin beneath her palm, taut with muscle and jumping with sparks of fire. She shivered then as a smile stole her features and he disappeared around the bend, lost in the flurry of the crowds bustling about the outer level of Helm's Deep.

* * *

The next morning Lothíriel found herself awake late as usual, but could not help smiling as she stretched her arms high above her head. She had spent the late hours of the evening crowded around the hearth in the great hall with Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Éowyn, Gandalf, and Éomer exchanging stories and sharing laughter. Théoden had retired early to council with his advisors, leaving the others to relax and enjoy the lull that followed battle.

Lothíriel could not remember a time in her life when she had laughed so hard or been in such awe; from Gimli's tale of his father's quest to recover their home of Erebor, to Aragorn's recounting of his time spent under the tutelage of Elrond, to Gandalf's fight against the balrog of Moria, to Éomer's story of how he had inadvertently rescued two hobbits who had been a part of the Fellowship not too many nights ago, to Legolas's bringing down of a nazgûl and his fell beast with a single shot, Lothíriel enjoyed and reveled in them all.

And all the while she had sat beside Éomer unbeknownst to his gentle gaze that had barely wavered from her visage.

She took to the great hall after dressing in the same gown as yesterday only to find the room completely deserted and breakfast cleared. The only thing left was a bowl of fruit on the table and Lothíriel grabbed an apple with a wistful sigh, wishing she could procure a strong cup of tea.

"That is what you get for waking up late; no tea for you." she said to herself.

"My lady?"

Lothíriel jumped and turned around at the stern voice, dropping her apple so the treat rolled across the floor. She watched as the Marshal of the East Emnet deftly rolled the apple onto his boot and bounced it up into his hand. He rubbed it against his clean tunic and tossed to her with a grin, and Lothíriel nearly dropped the confection again because she was too blinded by his dashing countenance.

"Good morning Lord Éomer." Lothíriel dropped into a hasty curtsy and cleared her throat of the squeak that had suddenly developed. _Since when do I squeak?_

"Did I hear you grumbling about a cup of tea?" Éomer asked, his eyes betraying his mirth.

"Grumble indeed; tis how I wake up in the morning. I am an awful grump if I do not have the brew."

"Ah, so that is the key to taming the beast."

Lothíriel glowered, drawing a strong laugh from the Marshal. He extended his arm and offered, "Here, have a seat and I will get one for you."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow but took his arm and allowed him to guide her to the table to be seated. He pulled her chair out for her and she sat, daintily arranging her skirts as he disappeared. She thought he meant to fetch a servant to do the deed for him, but when he returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of fresh tea Lothíriel could not stop the faint pink blush or the beaming smile from gracing her features.

"I could've found a maid to bring me a cup." She said shyly, her fingers brushing his as he handed her the mug. Fire licked at her fingertips but she dismissed the feeling, telling herself it was only from the hot metal cup.

"Yes, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of bringing you one myself."

The blush Éomer achieved from her was radiant in itself, and Lothíriel ducked her head politely in thanks. She expected him to leave, but was pleasantly surprised when the handsome Marshal took up the chair beside her own.

"So how did your affinity for tea begin?" Éomer asked her with a rakish smile.

He settled into the high-backed chair and Lothíriel tried desperately to recover from the shockwave her body received from his smile as she said, "My…my father told me my mother always used to drink it while sitting on the balcony overlooking her garden in the morning. He used to jest that he could tell how awake she was by how much was left in the mug." _Stammering Lothíriel? Really? _"I suppose I inherited the trait from her."

"Does that mean I am to inherit my mother's own liking for blue gowns and fancy baubles?"

Lothíriel giggled. "I daresay you would look quite dashing in a blue gown."

They shared a laugh before Éomer remarked, "I presume you needed all the aide you could get in dealing with three bothers."

"You do not know the half of it!"

Éomer chuckled. "It was that bad then?"

"Why, they got away with murder! Although, there is one story… You see, Elphir thought himself better than all of us because he was the firstborn, so one day Amrothos and Erchirion decided to prove him otherwise with me as their hapless victim. They kidnapped me from the dining hall after breakfast and carted me off to the forest when I was only but ten! They tied me to a tree and told me that if Elphir thought he was so great then he could come rescue me." Éomer began to laugh uproariously, and though it was funny in hindsight Lothíriel remembered being terrified at the time. "Well Elphir didn't know he had to rescue me because those two dolts forgot to tell him when they arrived back home; they had managed to be late for their swordplay and father was in a lather. I stood there crying and screaming until well after noon when some merchant coming home to Dol Amroth came upon me and recognized me for who I was and brought me back to father."

Éomer was red in the face from his mirth, and liking the way that he looked when he smiled Lothíriel continued. "True, the whipping for Amrothos and Erchirion to follow was well worth the suffering. I think they both walked around like old men for a week."

"And that is just but one story?"

"Oh I have plenty more! I'm sure I could talk your ears off over the course of an entire week." Lothíriel laughed, and then lightened up a little. "Not to say I did not have the most wonderful of childhoods. Father indulged many of my whims and my brothers were always kind, albeit a little rough around the edges. I grew up reading and writing when not many women do, and father allowed me to practice at the bow while my brothers worked with their swords. I had free reign of the castle and the village, and had my own mare to take to the beach whenever I wanted."

She met his eyes then, and she could almost wish to hope that he looked at her with adoration in that moment. His eyes were fixated on her, his lips tilted up in a soft smile. "Tell me more."

It wasn't long before an hour had passed with flowing conversation of home and kin, peppered with many smiles and fumbling words (on her part, of course!). Her mug had long been emptied but Lothíriel could not bring herself to leave Éomer's presence; she had been enjoying herself far too much in his intelligent but light-hearted conversation.

"I am sorry, my lady, but I must take my leave of you; I am long overdue to meet with my uncle." Éomer pushed back his chair to stand and Lothíriel instantly grew contrite.

"I am so sorry! I have kept you well past my due."

"Please do not be sorry, for it was the highlight of my day to sit and talk with you." He smiled then, and in doing so rendered Lothíriel absolutely breathless.

"But it is only the morning; how do you know it will be the highlight of your day?" Lothíriel managed to tease him lightly, moving her head back so she could look at him as he pushed his chair in; she could not get enough of him, this man.

"I do not have to go through the rest of my day to know that nothing will make me smile as you have." He bowed his head to her and left, departing on her a grin to leave her absolutely thoughtless.

_He is charming_, she thought. _So very charming. I wonder if he knows the effect he has on me with just his words?_

Lothíriel ignored the rampant pounding of her heart in his wake as she stood from her chair. She decided then to visit the women and children of the keep, to make sure they were packing and ready to move on the morrow. They had taken up shelter in the outer and inner levels of the keep after the wreckage and carnage had been taken care of and so she made her way from the great hall and almost immediately found herself greeted by many a kind smile and children aplenty, and quickly the morning passed unto noon.

Instead of leaving to take to the great hall to eat with the nobles, a slab of dried pork and a wedge of cheese was procured and Lothíriel passed her meal with the common folk, getting to know them. They were a lively bunch, these Rohirrim, and Lothíriel found herself getting lost in tales of their endearing culture.

She took her leave long after she was finished and decided to journey to the stables to take Firebreather for a turn about the small ring on the far side of the outer level. She found the afternoon hot and bright, but she rejoiced in the weather being fair instead of wrought with rain and storms. In passing the large horse statue in the middle of the keep Lothíriel met up with Éowyn who had just finished bringing the guards their noon meal at the battlements; just because the Battle of the Hornberg had been won did not mean they could slack on their duties of vigilance. If anything the threat of Mordor loomed closer; Lothíriel heard much in her time with the townsfolk of Edoras.

"Where are you off to?" Éowyn asked her, easily falling into step with the princess.

"I was just going off to exercise Firebreather around the pen for a while; he grows weary if he is still for too long. Would you like to come?"

"Aye, he is a magnificent beast, and I could exercise my Windfola as well."

Lothíriel told her about meal with the townsfolk and how welcoming and warm they had been, and then relayed to Éowyn her morning tea with her brother. She left out the parts of her blundering mouth or the way her heart had beat fiercely the entire time she had been in his presence, but Éowyn did remark that she found it odd that her brother had spent so much time with her when he knew he had to be with Théoden.

"It is unlike my brother to shirk duty. Nothing to say against you, of course." Éowyn said with a coy glance at the princess under her light lashes. She did not miss the way Lothíriel ducked her head and covered her mouth in a polite albeit unnecessary cough.

_I could've passed the day speaking with him. _"He probably just got caught up in the time is all." Lothíriel remarked as they came unto the stables, immediately greeted by Master Hobard. Lothíriel relayed what she wanted to do and although he looked like he wanted to argue, the old stable master allowed her into the pen to reconcile with her beast. He accompanied her in as well after obtaining the necessary items for her practice and Éowyn took to leaning along the low stone wall that created the enclosure from the outside to watch.

Lothíriel approached her mount with a smile, his bridle, and an apple, and Firebreather did not hesitate to trot right over to her from the other side of the paddock. He tossed his head and immediately tried to snag the apple from her hand, but Lothíriel tsked and withdrew it, holding up the bridle instead.

"Behave, and you may have the apple." she told him, and she was quite surprised when he readily obeyed her, as if he had understood her every word! After attaching the lead rope to his bridle she stepped to the center of the ring and guided him in a small circle, clicking and calling encouragement to him.

"Do not let the rope slack too much, princess. There! That's better; keep it taut or he will think he is free to do as he wants." Hobard called to her, stepping out of the way of the great beast as he made his rounds.

"How did he fare for you this past night? Well, I hope?" she asked the stable master, who led his response with a hearty chuckle.

"I will admit that I was timid at first to take your advice but aye, the creature did well. Slept through the night and everything."

Lothíriel smiled as she turned with Firebreather, her eyes only for him. "He has his ways, that is for sure."

"Is he Rohirric?"

"I would not doubt it." A voice cut in, and as Lothíriel had to force herself not to spin in surprise at the newcomer. She slowly spun with the goings of her horse and found her gaze caught on Éomer who had joined his sister at the wall. "He certainly acts as one."

_Éomer!_

"How did you come about him?" Hobard asked as Lothíriel quelled the sudden trembling in her hands and ripped her gaze back to focus on Firebreather; if she was not attentive he would begin leading her in circles!

"He was a mount in my father's keeping; I was the only one who could tame him." It was not untrue, yet Lothíriel did not feel the need to go into detail about how specifically she came to be the owner of Firebreather.

"He is a smart beast; he knows to obey a woman's command." Éomer jested, earning a swat from his sister.

They fell into an easy banter and Lothíriel did not listen but instead focused on Firebreather. She did not want to look the fool in front of Éomer! _Och, though already you sorely have! _For some reason his opinion of her had come to matter much, and she found herself striving to be as clever and as rapturous as she could be whenever he was around.

Master Hobard kept a keen eye on her and Firebreather, and after a half of an hour had passed he offered to fetch Windfola for Éowyn as Lothíriel tied up Firebreather on the outside of the ring.

"You did well with him; he is very attuned to you." Éomer remarked as she joined them, brushing the horsehair and dust from her skirts. "And you have not had him long, am I correct?"

"Barely a fortnight if that." Lothíriel replied, and was intrinsically happy at Éomer's praise.

"You claim to not know much yet it is if you were raised by a Rohirric breeder!" Éowyn said as Windfola was brought out, and she took her leave of them to claim her mount.

"If you would like to take up his brush I can teach you all I know of horses as I promised." Éomer offered with a kind smile, glancing at Firebreather who had perked up at the sight of the grey and beautiful Windfola entering the paddock.

"I will get his brush!"

Lothíriel teetered off, secretly excited to be spending even more time with Éomer. _He most likely sticks around out of sheer boredom, _her annoyingly astute conscious told her, but she paid the barb no mind. She had come to grow eager of his presence, greedy for his eyes to meet her own. His words were always kind and full of mirth and he always had a dashing smile to lend to her. She felt so at ease in his presence; he made her feel safe and warm, though it was true it had only been since yesterday that she had met him!

_A folly indeed_. _He is probably like this with all the fine ladies._

_ Pah! Hush._

She returned to him with her brush and he was already next to Firebreather, petting his neck. The horse had his ears laid flat but was allowing the ministrations because of the strong hold on his bridle that Éomer had. However when Lothíriel approached he gave a great toss of his head and the bridle came loose of Éomer's hand, causing the Marshal to smile. Lothíriel laughed and took up the bridle, scratching under Firebreather's forelock like he was fond of.

"A temper is the first thing we look for to make a warhorse; it proves that they are spirited and fear nothing." Éomer began as Lothíriel started to brush down his neck. "Though over time and with the right hand the temper is curbed and only allowed when needed."

Lothíriel listened and enjoyed all Éomer had to tell her. He was very smart indeed when it came to horses and she found herself enthralled by his tales and knowledge.

Éowyn retired her mount after a good run and then Firefoot was brought out, and Hobard had to restrain Firebreather as the stallion stamped and snorted. Éomer took to the paddock to run his mount, and though Éowyn talked to her about many things as she brushed down Windfola, Lothíriel was sure she heard none of what was said. She leaned against the stone battlement and watched with a small smile as the Marshal exercised his mount with ease, clicking and guiding the beast with an affectionate but stern hand. Lothíriel found herself wistfully sighing at the sight, completely unbeknownst to Éowyn's inquisitive gaze; the lieutenant and his mount made quite a sight indeed.

The afternoon passed swiftly enough before the three went their separate ways; Éomer was beckoned by Éothain while Lothíriel and Éowyn went to the fields to bring water to the men working to clear the bodies. It was near nightfall that Amrothos came to collect them, bidding that supper was about to be served.

"I will need to wash up first; do not delay on my account." Lothíriel told Éowyn as they ascended their way up the bridge to the fortress.

"Théoden will not mind!" Éowyn told her.

"Surely? My father would be furious if I showed up to dinner like this." Lothíriel motioned to her dirty skirts and calloused hands, her hair unruly with many strands peeking out from her once-tight braid.

"On the contrary; I cannot tell you how many times Éomer, Théodred, and I showed up to dinner covered in dirt from the Mark!" Éowyn laughed, following Amrothos through the door to the first level. "He will be more bothered by the fact that we are late."

True to her word Théoden remarked on their lateness but not their attire, though Lothíriel smoothed over his disapproval by taking the fault and beseeching upon the king a beguiling smile. It was not long after that she and Théoden were lost in conversation on their respective days, delighting each other with smiles and laughter. Lothíriel ate heartily of the meal and kept the table riotous with tales of Amrothos as a child as the conversation turned, to which her brother sulked at his plate and readily ignored.

"Your mother must've had a handful with the four of you!" Éomer said after the telling of one story in which Amrothos and Lothíriel had taken to sea just before a storm swept up the coast against the will of their father, when she had been but five and Amrothos was no more than ten. Their boat had overturned and her father, as well as most of the castle guards, had to swim out to save them; the whipping that had followed had been the most unforgettable part of the memory.

"She passed away soon after I was born, so I knew little of her." Lothíriel said, earning a repentant look from Éomer.

"I am sorry, I did not know." He took a sip of his ale and offered, "My mother died when I was eleven shortly after my father was slain in battle. It is said she passed of a broken heart."

Lothíriel felt her own heart flutter. "I can only imagine the grief she must've felt; I think it very sad."

"From what I do remember she was as beautiful as she was kind. She cured all my scratches with a kiss and kept a candle lit by my bedside to keep the balrogs away at night. She always had a story to tell when she took me to bed and woke me every morning with a smile." Éomer took another draught of his ale. "I will always remember her smile."

Lothíriel smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "She must've had the patience of an elf to have dealt with Théodred and you as young boys."

"The most unmanageable pair of boys I think I have ever met." Théoden offered from his position at the center of the table. "Has he told you of the time he and Théodred tied Éowyn's hair to her bed frame and scared her to wake and run, only to have her fall back and rip out a hank of her hair in the process? My dear sister Théodwyn was distraught over the loss."

"_She_ was?" Éowyn laughed for good measure. "She was not the one who had to walk around with a bald spot in the back of her head for weeks!"

Laughter ensued and the conversation again was filled with stories and happy memories of a time long past. The high table did not depart until well into the night, and even then they took to the hearth once more to drink ale and remember more joyful times. Even Théoden joined them this night, sipping ale and delighting them with stories of his youth spent in Gondor. It was a pleasing evening accompanied by a lofty mountain wind brought in by the open doors, one that Lothíriel found lulled her into a gentle doze before the fire.

"I think Lothíriel has the right of it." Éowyn's voice pulled her from her slight slumber and Lothíriel smiled sleepily, offering her comrades an apology.

"Did I bore you that much princess?" Théoden teased her lightly and Lothíriel shook her head before a yawn overtook her.

"I think the events of the day have worn me out more than I thought. I will bid you good night, my lords." Lothíriel rose with Éowyn who claimed to do the same, and Lothíriel had barely moved from her chair when Éomer rose.

"I will escort you to your chambers." He offered. "I feel myself getting heavy-lidded as well."

He offered his arm to the pair and the women each took one, calling their goodnights to their friends. Éowyn and Éomer took up a small conversation on the way to their chambers but Lothíriel was too tired to keep her eyes open let alone keep up with their talking.

"I will leave you here then." Éowyn announced as they stopped before her door. "Good night brother, Lothíriel."

Lothíriel nodded and bid her goodnight before Éomer led her down the stone hall lined with flickering amber torches.

"I didn't know how tired I was." Lothíriel said through another yawn.

"You have had a busy past couple of days." They stopped before her own door and Lothíriel dropped her arm from Éomer's and turned to smile up at him.

"I thank you for your kindness; you have been more than welcoming throughout the day and I found myself quite enjoying your company." She told the Marshal, clasping her hands before her. She suddenly felt awkward and more awake because of it, and her palms started to sweat against one another.

_My palms do not sweat!_

"I as well." Éomer offered her a short bow and a smile that made her knees weak.

"I bid you good night, then." Lothíriel said softly, though she made no move to take to her chambers.

"Good night, my lady." Éomer responded, though he too made no move to depart.

A handful of heartbeats passed before Lothíriel dipped her head and turned to face her door to push it open. She had just stepped over the threshold when she felt a gentle brush against her shoulder that sent the sparks of fire to lick over her flesh. Éomer's deep voice bid her to pause by the soft utterance of her name and Lothíriel turned quickly, but found that Éomer stood with both hands at his sides, his posture rigid and his eyes dark; whatever she had hoped to find in them was lost to her.

Though he did smile, a soft gesture. "I look forward to spending more time in your presence."

_Did I just imagine his hand brushing me? _Lothíriel thought, returning a smile up to the lieutenant and blushing from her perceived feeling. _I must have_. "Good night, lord Éomer."

She shut the door behind her but paused after she slid the bolt into place, closing her eyes as her palms rested against the chiseled wood. She nibbled her bottom lip as a fierce smile stole her features, her heart fluttering in excitement.

_I look forward to seeing you again as well._

* * *

These keep getting longer and longer; this chapter was 12 pages! I'm either sorry or not sorry, whichever suits you =]

I liked this chapter; I had such a fun time throwing Lothíriel and Éomer together in different situations. Besides, it is nice to focus on something that is not the war; there will be plenty of time for that in the future. In any case, I will see you all next week! Much love and peace to you; I am forever grateful for your devotion and kind words!


	11. Chapter 11: Goddess of the Sea Indeed

**Chapter Eleven: Goddess of the Sea Indeed  
**

Early the next morning they began their journey to Edoras, the long procession carefully organized and surrounded by soldiers in intervals on all sides. Théoden led the cavalcade with Aragorn, Éomer following with Amrothos, and both Éowyn and Lothíriel behind them. Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas trailed further back, and followed by them were the women and children, the disabled and the elderly, and the bodies of the dead prepared for burial. The men who were no longer fit for battle had stayed behind to finish the cleaning of the keep, as well as a strong contingent of soldiers to hold fast the defense of it.

The day was bright and boasted of a pleasant temperature, but the wind was volatile. Clouds obscured the sun at some points which Lothíriel found a nice respite for her healing skin. She was dressed in a gown of cream, this one tighter in the waist and squeezing her bosom unmercifully. The wide cuffs dipped low to tickle the shoulders of Firebreather and the bodice was embroidered most beautifully with glittering golden thread depicting long swirls and elegant arches. Éowyn had laced it up the back as lightly as she could, but still the rounded neckline chafed at the sensitive skin of her chest and the hem of it fell disastrously short of her feet. Éowyn had tried to fix her hair into a braided coronet as well, but the woman had clumsy fingers when it came to hair; strands fell from the plait to tease the nape of her neck or fall into her face. Lothíriel had teased her heartlessly before deftly pinning Éowyn's shorter hair in a low knot at the nape of her neck, the color of which contrasted nicely with the forest color of her own gown.

"I'm glad you found the fortress of Helm's Deep pleasing. It will take a while to mend, but the Deepening Wall will stand sure once more." Éowyn was saying to Lothíriel after she had recounted her tour with Éomer from two days past.

"It is a mighty fortress, reminding me much of the one built on the Bay of Belfalas." Lothíriel replied.

She sat side-saddle atop Firebreather who pranced happily among his companions, eager to be out in the open once more. When she and Éowyn had taken to the stables this morning to ready their mounts Master Hobard had thanked Lothíriel for her insight on Firebreather; he had been awed to find how much more manageable the mount was in the open pen and had commented that he had never seen a horse consume so many apples.

"I have never been to the coast." Éowyn remarked, her blue gaze traveling to Lothíriel from the open sky above her. Lothíriel watched as a smile stole over her friend's features and her eyes twinkled in wonderment. "Will you describe it for me?"

Lothíriel closed her eyes, allowing a sigh of contentment to pass through her lips. "It is always warm, even in the low months of winter. A gentle breeze, whether from land or sea, always keeps the air smelling sweetly of salt. Our castle lies only a short distance from the beach where I would ride my mare Seawind through the dunes high with sea grass to sand as soft as silk, but only on the days we did not take to ocean in a small ship my brothers built in their youth. Fair weather we are always graced with, but on some summer nights a storm from the south comes barreling through to quench the thirst of the earth. The village is always bustling with kind folk and trade from all over Middle Earth; the Haradrim with their strong spices and fabrics the softest you will ever feel, the dwarves and their precious jewels, and men selling pelts from animals only known in the Northlands. On the opposite side of our great stone castle three levels tall are green fields filled with cows and sheep, before the hills give way to the lush forests bordering the Ringló."

"Do you miss it much?" Éowyn asked, causing Lothíriel to open her eyes to look at her friend.

"I haven't given much thought to Dol Amroth, if I were to quite truthful with you."

"Do you not miss your father and brothers?"

Lothíriel shrugged faintly, swaying with the gait of Firebreather. "I do, but I am having too much excitement to dwell on them overmuch. Besides, I am not looking forward to being reunited with my father. I think he will lock me in my room until I wither from old age."

"Am I to hear of these infamous adventures now?" Éomer had dropped back with Firefoot, a grin on his face as he met Lothíriel's grey gaze. "And what's this about being locked away?"

"Lothíriel is convinced that her father will never again let her see the light of day when she returns home to Dol Amroth." Éowyn laughed, causing her brother to do so as well. "I will steal you away to Edoras, if that be the case."

"And I am lucky to have a friend such as you." Lothíriel bowed her head toward Éowyn, and the Lady of Rohan completed the feat of sweeping a graceful curtsy from the back of her steed.

"Do not forget you promised to tell me of your adventures." Éomer cut in, successfully redirecting Lothíriel's attention back to him. It was an easy accomplishment, for whenever he was near her heart began to flutter like the wings of a hummingbird. Before the hearth on their last night at Helm's Deep the evening before, Lothíriel had become tongue-tied so many times while speaking to Éomer that her brother had begun to mock her and she had stayed quiet for the better part of an hour afterward before she had fallen asleep. She did not embarrass easily, but it seemed that upon meeting the horse master her life had begun to tilt precariously into a realm of feelings and behaviors that she was not accustomed to.

Even now she lifted a hand, straining to pat a rather errant lock of hair back into the plait of her coronet. "I'm sure your sister is rather tired of hearing my story."

"On the contrary; I cannot see it ever getting old!" Éowyn laughed. "I daresay that bards are already composing sonnets to your deeds."

"I don't believe we've heard the story straight from the horse's mouth either." Gimli and Legolas pulled up on the other side of Éowyn, their faces barely containing their enthusiasm.

"They were too boastful of their own feats to listen to the bravest of them all." Éowyn whispered loudly from the back of Windfola with a wretched grin.

"Oh do not encourage her!" Amrothos called from where he rode next to Aragorn. "You will inflate her already large head!"

"At least I will have something in there, unlike yours!" Lothíriel called back quickly and hotly.

"I did not know hot air counted as a substantial brain material!"

The laughter that ensued made Lothíriel wish she had something to throw at her infuriating brother, especially for treating her so in front of Lord Éomer! She could feel her cheeks burning as she imagined herself pelting a rather large rock at his head. Or maybe a rotten tomato. Amrothos hated tomatoes.

"Come now, my lady, tell us of your adventures." Éomer called to her, and she reluctantly turned her gaze to the Marshal. _I don't want him to see me like this! _Her jaw was rigid and she could not help but to cast a glare at Amrothos when he turned to face her and stuck his tongue out at her.

_Child! _She stuck her tongue out right back!

She settled back into Firebreather's saddle and notched her chin a little higher, refusing to acknowledge her errant brother anymore while Éomer laughed heartily at her own foolish behavior.

"When I heard that Middle Earth was falling to the shadow of the east…"

And so her story went, from how she had begged Celís to help her drug the guard and steal his clothes, rode out next to her brother on a warhorse that no one could tame, slept in chainmail on the solid ground, struggled with the unruly Firebreather day in and day out, and dealt with the disorderly soldiers. She left out not a single incident, and the entire company would admit that they had never laughed so hard in their entire lives as her tale came to an end.

"Most women would run from the mention of war." Gimli growled out through his monstrous beard. "Yet you cast yourself straight into the middle of the fray."

"I will admit, Master Gimli, I never thought my actions would bring me here." Lothíriel replied.

"What made you want to ride out in the first place?" Éomer rode closest to her now, having been listening to her entire story in complete and utter rapture.

"I couldn't bear the thought of my kinsmen risking their lives for my country while I sat at home and waited for news. I am a strong, able body willing to fight for those I love. Must I stay at home and mend clothes for someone when I do not know if I will ever see them again? Wondering day in and day out if it will be this day that I find out that I am sovereign of Dol Amroth because my fathers and brothers gave their lives fighting a cause I did not understand?"

"Powerful words." Gimli said, his eyes settled hard on the princess.

"Do not mistake me; I know I have a duty to my country and I will well accept it in due time. But I would've never been ready to be the true Princess of Dol Amroth all on my own if I had stayed home in my father's gilded cage burdened with fear and ignorance.

"I had only the faintest idea of what was happening in Middle Earth, and never would I have imagined in a thousand lifetimes it to be to the extent as I've discovered. It is not often that I get the chance to explore new lands without my father and brothers hovering over my very shadow, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. And I refused to be ignorant in this cause, not when we are so close to war. I am an intelligent woman with a strong soul; not one to be left out in times of despair." Lothíriel offered an unapologetic smile to her captivated audience. "I cannot say that I regret a single moment."

"Well, I am not going to complain." Gimli nodded at her. "It is refreshing to find a kindred spirit such as yourself; rare to find one that near matches the beauty of the Lady Galadriel." He leaned toward her conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a gruff whisper. "The elf is not as easy on the eyes as he would like to believe."

Lothíriel laughed as Gimli chose that moment to lose his balance, and had to rely on said elf to steady him. Legolas reacted with the agility of his kind, deftly setting the snarling dwarf back on the saddle they shared. Lothíriel was red in the face from her laughter, unbeknownst to Éomer's eyes riveted to her bewitching smile.

"I can only wait to see what great deeds you have yet to accomplish, and I do so with bated breath." Legolas said, his blue eyes sparkling in the low light of the sun even though it had dipped behind a cloud.

"I hope I do not disappoint! I am not built of greatness; merely luck and womanly charm." Lothíriel replied, though she did bow her head in thanks.

"I don't think you could ever disappoint, in any manner, my lady." Éomer said softly, so softly that she almost missed it. Lothíriel turned her head then, and for a moment the rocky hills of Rohan and their boisterous companions melted away, and they shared a heartbeat's worth of unsaid words with their gazes entwined. Lothíriel's chest constricted, though not in an uncomfortable manner, and her body flooded with a warmth that she had never felt before, could not give words to. She smiled then, a beautiful smile, and turned her face away lest Éomer read her thoughts through her eyes. Though, if truth be told, she wasn't sure if there were any thoughts to be read; his gaze had stolen her wits yet again.

"Éomer!" Théoden rode hard to them suddenly, and she was ripped from her reverie by his voice. "Legolas, Gimli. We ride ahead to scout.

"I'll ride north, you take the east way." Théoden instructed before cantering off on Snowmane, causing Firebreather to prance in excitement. Lothíriel reached down a hand to soothe the beast as Éomer and the others took their leave, following the orders of the king.

Lothíriel watched as the Marshal kicked Firefoot into a gallop, preceding the procession with Éothain and Legolas with Gimli. She gazed after him long after he had disappeared over an outcropping of rocks, her hand still absentmindedly stroking Firebreather.

"I daresay you are becoming the heart of the company." Éowyn teased her, sidling Windfola closer to Firebreather. "Even my brother seems quite taken with you."

"They will tire of my antics soon enough. My own family cannot deem to bear me for much longer than a day." Lothíriel said, making light of the situation so Éowyn did not notice the pink blush stealing across her cheeks at the mention of Éomer's attention.

"It is rather unlike my brother to be so captivated by one person. When he is not walking about with a scowl on his face or training with his éored, he likes to spend his time…how did you so eloquently put it? Warmongering and drinking copious amounts of ale?" Éowyn teased.

"Should I not fit your brother in with the rest of the Rohirrim then?" Lothíriel struggled to maintain an air of levity, but by now she was sure Éowyn could hear the rampage of her heart.

"On the contrary; my brother is very stern most of the time. He takes his position as marshal quite seriously and this war has brought him much added strain." Éowyn said sadly. "I have not seen him laugh so much since before the attacks on Rohan started, and it has not fallen beneath my notice that it is only around you, my dear Lothíriel."

"Pah!" Lothíriel dismissed, jerking her head in denial.

"You spent the majority of the day together yesterday _and _the day before," Éowyn pressed, much to Lothíriel's chagrin. "The conversation after supper last evening was a complete debacle; I have never seen anyone's face quite so red! And in the short time I have known you, I have never once found you to be tongue-tied. Shall I also mention at the noon meal my brother could hardly take his eyes from you? Dare I believe Rohan swapped one sorcerer for another?"

Lothiriel turned her nose up and sat straighter in the saddle, hoping the added height would help keep Eowyn from seeing the blush creeping up from her neck to her hairline. "I am no more a sorcerer than Firebreather. Now hush your idle words; they mean naught."

But the rapturous joy that blossomed in her core, stoking the flames in her soul even higher yet, meant more to Lothíriel than she would ever give voice to.

* * *

They pulled their company to a halt before the sun fully set over the fields of the Mark, and Lothíriel busied herself with helping the women unload and take care of the children. Éowyn was not far from her side throughout and Lothíriel did not realize how aching her feet had become until Amrothos brought her a small plate of greens and salted meat and bid her sit with him to pass the meal well after the sun had set. Under the watchful shadow of the mountain and not far from a small pond Lothíriel enjoyed her meal, Éowyn and Gimli joining her and her brother soon thereafter. The dwarf shared his pipe with Amrothos as they talked battle strategies, boring the two women to absolute tears.

"What say you we find this pond and dip our feet in the water?" Lothíriel asked Éowyn. "I'm sure it is a safe venture we can make on our own."

"As long as you promise not to fall into the shallows; I am not a good swimmer and don't know how I would fare trying to save you in the dark." The Lady of Rohan replied, rousing a laugh from Lothíriel. The two stood and Amrothos halted his conversation with Gimli to address his sister.

"Where are you off to?"

"To soak our feet in the pond. I think it will do my wound good."

Amrothos frowned. "Is it bothering you?"

Lothíriel shook her head; though, in truth, the injury plagued her more and more throughout the day. She attributed it to overuse and exhaustion.

"Be wary then; there will be soldiers about, but it cannot hurt to be on your guard." And with that Amrothos turned back to Gimli to carry on the conversation, dismissing the two with not more than a glance.

Lothíriel and Éowyn began to wade through the pallets and fires, ceasing to talk for fear of waking the slumbering children. The night sky was bright and filled with stars, and Lothíriel found her gaze traveling many times to the twinkling far above. The moon was in its waxing crescent phase and proudly shone without the hindrance of clouds high above the Entwash in the very far distance. The air was cool but not chillingly so, and it was refreshing once they broke free of the encampment and its smoking campfires.

"We are lucky to have come upon a pond; I did not know one existed in this part of the Mark." Éowyn said as they came upon the water only about fifty yards from where they had made camp for the night. Guards milled about with the horses, talking lowly amongst themselves and seeing to the mounts. Lothíriel and Éowyn exchanged greetings with the men before taking to the far side of the pond where there were fewer horses and the trees lined the base of the mountain. They had no light with them but were in within eyesight of the guards, and Lothíriel let out a dainty sigh as she and Éowyn moved to unlace their restraining boots.

"I cannot tell you how many dresses I ruined taking to the waves back home in Dol Amroth as a girl." Lothíriel laughed, tossing her boots far enough away so they were not in danger of getting wet. "My maid Celis would have a fit when I returned home dripping salt water."

"Are you a good swimmer? It is something that I never truly learned how to do." The women reached for one another as they took to the shallows, their skirts held high to avoid the ripples of the pond.

"My brothers and I delighted in scaring the grey hairs to my father's poor head, but yes, very much so. We grew up on the water." Lothíriel swished her feet through the cold water. "But as I grew older it became unseemly for a lady to frolic about the waves. It has been a long while since I have swum."

Éowyn suddenly slipped in the mud of the shallows of the pond and gasped loudly, startling the horses. Lothíriel laughed as she dropped her skirts to catch Éowyn from falling, becoming unsteady herself. The women drew the attention of the guards as they squealed and flailed, though thankfully did not find themselves dowsed in the cool water.

"And you mocked me!" Lothíriel chided good-humoredly, taking up her skirts once more. They were drenched now but Lothíriel knew it would do no good to continue to soak them, so she held them even higher and exposed more of her calves in doing so.

_This was just what I needed. _Although her injured foot throbbed in dulled pain, the soothing laps of water helped to quell the ache. She found that she could not put much weight on the extremity but ignored the notion; she would be better in the morning she was sure.

"Was this not the perfect idea? My feet were aching so very badly!" Lothíriel remarked to Éowyn.

"The cold water is very refreshing." Éowyn sloshed her feet about, causing waves to tease Lothíriel's legs. Lothíriel moved away but kicked a small bout of water toward the lady, rousing a cry of alarm from Éowyn. She laughed and kicked a small wave in revenge, sending Lothíriel turning tail and pulling her skirts up about her thighs as she moved into the water well past her knees.

Silence fell between the two and Lothíriel turned her face to the sky, tipping her head back far as she spun in slow circles.

"Is it not beautiful?" Lothíriel asked, sighing wistfully. "I love looking at the stars."

Éowyn turned her gaze to the sky as well. "I prefer the warm light of day, but aye, they are very beautiful."

"It is just so peaceful. It is quiet and soothing, the tranquility of the mountain." Lothíriel closed her eyes and took a slow breath of fresh air, drawing a smile from Éowyn.

"You best hope there is no fire drake waiting beneath it." Éowyn teased, causing Lothíriel to giggle.

"Éowyn!"

The harsh voice peeled across the water and caused the women to startle and, quite untrue to her dual nature, Lothíriel lost her balance in her haste.

She heard Eowyn gasp a splint second before she exclaimed, "Lothíriel!"

Lothíriel whirled her arms to try to maintain her footing but the mud was too slippery and her skirts, already soaked from before, threw her even more off balance. With a gasping scream, eyes wide in panic, Lothíriel fell back into the water with a great splash, thoroughly dowsing herself as she submerged briefly beneath the water.

Lothíriel pulled herself up to sit uncomfortably on the muddy and rocky pond floor, gasping and sputtering away the putrid water that soaked her hair, her clothes, and her skin. She pulled a thick lock of hair from her face and choked on a mouthful of the water, rubbing her chest to ease her gasping, when suddenly a pair of sturdy arms twined about her knees and wrapped around her back. She let out another gasp as she abruptly found herself shivering in the cool night air rather than the dredges of the shallow pond.

Coughing lightly, just now able to catch her breath, Lothíriel looked up at the sternly chiseled face of Éomer as he carried her from the pond, now dripping wet himself.

"Éomer!" She coughed again on water, one hand at her throat while the other pushed an unruly lock of sopping hair from her face.

He did not respond to her, but unceremoniously dumped her to her feet once they met dry land. A great crowd had gathered to see what the scream was about, but dispersed at Éomer's black look and gruff words of dismissal. The horses were disheveled from the scream and the guards were busy silencing and soothing them, but there were a few who could not suppress their laughter at the drenched princess and the equally soaking marshal.

Lothíriel was hot with mortification and busied herself with wringing out her ruined hair as Eowyn slowly clamored out of the water, wheezing with laughter and red in the face from it.

"What in the devil's name were you two doing out there?" Éomer snapped hotly, causing Lothíriel to become more engaged with her sopping hair than was necessary.

"Lothíriel thought it would be a good idea to go for a swim." Éowyn snickered, shaking out her skirts, ignoring the scathing look that Lothíriel shot at her. "Honestly though Éomer, there was no need to shout like that!"

"You know better than to stray in the dark!"

Éowyn grumbled something under her breath about overbearing brothers, and then said louder, "There were guards nearby; they saw us come and knew what we were about."

Éomer took one fury-filled look at his sister's soaking skirts and dripping legs before turning even angrier eyes to Lothíriel. He quickly averted his gaze back to his sister and, if it were possible, scowled even more heavily.

"You know better than to upset the waters; we know not what lurks beneath." he said sourly, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he shook water from his own hair.

"Oh Éomer really; it is a pond no deeper than the height of our knees." Éowyn rolled her eyes.

"It was my idea, Lord Éomer; please do not be cross with your sister." Lothíriel interjected.

_He will think me petty and childish! _It was suddenly very important that Éomer in fact did _not_ think that of her and Lothíriel's palms began to sweat. _But I cannot let Eowyn take the blame!_

Éomer turned furious brown eyes to her, his lips thinned into a rigid line. Lothíriel worried her bottom lip but put on her best smile. "It won't happen again, I assure you."

Seconds full of aggravated tension stretched into moments. Lothíriel squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the Marshal, dropping her head to look at her bare feet as his eyes moved from her dripping hair, to her bodice plastered to her torso and chest, to her ruined skirts, and finally to her bare legs. It was only when Éowyn cleared her throat that Éomer snapped out of his perusal and Lothíriel looked up at him, tweaking her bright smile to finally soften his gaze.

"I will escort you back to camp. And there you will stay for the night." Éomer said brusquely, turning abruptly to lead the way.

Éowyn offered her brother a face he could not see, causing Lothíriel to giggle. Éomer shot a look of contempt over his shoulder at his sister but she had nimbly turned her gaze to the sky to avoid his ire. He turned back around then and Lothíriel continued to worry her bottom lip, her hands twisting idly in the layers of her skirt.

_I hope he does not think poorly of me_, she thought, her eyes watching the movements of his powerful stride. They dipped to his broad shoulders to his trim waist, before lingering on the fine curve of his backside. Quickly realizing what she was about Lothíriel jerked her gaze up to the encampment that surrounded them and cleared her throat, her cheeks hot with a blush.

_You sinful girl; the gods will have their punishment on you yet!_

* * *

Éomer saw to it that Lothíriel and his sister were deposited in the hands of two willing maids who would see to it that they changed and retired for the night. Without a word he left them to their devices, not even bidding them goodnight as he strode away.

_They should know better, Éowyn most of all!_ He mashed his teeth together quite forcefully as he made his way back to his own campfire with the most trusted of his éored and a few Meduseld guards. _They are lucky there is no danger about._

_ Or eyes as lecherous as mine own._

It took every ounce of his composure to place one foot in front of the other and ignore the images of Lothiriel in her sodden cream gown that almost disastrously revealed every ounce of her flesh beneath, her becomingly dripping hair, and her endearing look of contrition.

"What was the squealing then?" Gamling asked him as Eomer took his abandoned seat before the flames, reaching for his wineskin of ale.

"My sister," he spat angrily. "And the princess Lothíriel thought it would be a good idea to soak their feet in the waters of the pond."

"And?" Éothain asked, tipping back his own wineskin of ale.

"They could've been captured!"

"By who? The area is being scouted in all directions for five miles. Nothing could slip past Mithrandir, Aragorn is a ranger from the North, and that elf is uncannily sharp." Éothain laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"They could've…gotten hurt!" Éomer busied himself from drinking from his wineskin, his ire still hot. "Drowned even!"

Gamling let out a hoot of laughter. "The Princess of Dol Amroth? _Drown_? Where are your wits, man?"

Éomer glowered at his friend. "Stranger things have happened."

"I see no problem with their behavior; in fact, you would've done well to hold your tongue and merely watch." Gamling responded, earning himself a nudge and a guffaw from the nearest soldier.

"Careful." Éomer bit through his teeth.

"Ach, not Éowyn! The princess; she is a beautiful maiden."

For some reason that made Éomer bristle even more than the thought of his sister. "And a lady, you will do well to remember."

_Aye, and yourself as well! Do not act innocent in all of this; your eyes lingered where they should have not._

_ How could any man ignore a beautiful woman in a soaking gown?_

An image of Lothiriel's shapely legs slammed into his mind then, and he took another strong draught of his ale to whisk it away.

"I can appreciate her loveliness, can I not?" Gamling shrugged and earned himself another ribbing from the nearest soldier, and Éothain joined in with the laughter that ensued.

"Keep it to yourself." Éomer snapped, taking another slug of ale.

"Treading on thin ice are we?" Éothain mocked his friend.

"I only worried for their safety." Éomer grumbled, staring into the flames of the jumping fire before him, his thoughts a muddled mess.

"You worry too much!" Éothain slapped him on the back.

"We are in the middle of a war. Every shadow can be the enemy, every movement one that could take my life." Well, he was in a sour mood now, wasn't he?

"Relax Éomer." Gamling called from across the fire. "We jest; we mean no harm to the princess but know well enough now where we stand." The laughter from those who were listening was loud and boisterous, and made Eomer even more sullen than he already felt.

Éomer ignored him and instead finished off the ale in his wineskin, his brow falling even more sternly over his face. He knew not why he was so angered. And for the life of him he could not forget the absolute happiness lining Lothíriel's stunning features before she had taken to the water. Indeed he had slowed his gait as he came upon them, transfixed by the way her eyes had shone in the dim light of the stars and her cheeks had held a rosy hue of mirth and wonderment. Even more so, Éomer could not get the image of her slim white calves peeking out from beneath her dripping skirts from his mind no more than the could forget the way her soaking gown had highlighted every curve he could ever wish to see.

No matter how many times he forced himself to think of something wincingly repulsive instead.

As he shifted in his seat thanks to a sudden, uncomfortable entity beneath his belt, he rued the knowledge that he had no more ale to drown his thoughts.

_Aye, it is going to be a long night._


	12. Chapter 12: Old Agna

**Chapter Twelve: Old Agna**

They started off with the rising of the sun the next morning and arrived at Edoras some time shortly after noon. Lothíriel was undoubtedly well and truly exhausted from her early rising and all the traveling, and was thankful when her brother helped her down from the high back of her horse. However Amrothos misjudged the distance, because Firebreather was a tall beast indeed, and Lothíriel stumbled into her brother's arms. The foot she had been ignoring for days on end suddenly screamed in agony and she winced, her affected knee buckling from the weight of her pain.

"I'm sorry, Little Loth. Are you all right?" Amrothos captured both of her elbows to lend her support as Lothíriel tried to gain her footing. She frowned down at her appendage and determinedly put weight on it, _what the devil is the matter? _but the extremity would not allow it. Her foot shrieked with blinding pain and she instantly retracted the limb, unable to hide the grimace on her face from the shards that pierced her flesh, muscle, and bone.

"I'm just tired." Lothíriel deterred, though she was suddenly very sure it was more than that. Amrothos frowned down at her, withdrawing one hand but still holding onto one of her elbows with the other, and Lothíriel clutched onto his arm with white-knuckled fingers. Her foot had been aching throughout the days more and more she noticed, but she hadn't wanted to say anything, didn't want to draw attention to it now. Why, the wound had sealed! She didn't need a bandage or anything!

_Then why does it hurt so badly?_

"I noticed you limping the other day when we were in the stables." Éomer appeared then, taking his mighty helmet from his head. "Have you seen a healer for the warg's bite? Oftentimes they are poisonous."

_Poisonous? _Fear struck her then and Lothíriel glanced up to Amrothos. "I do not know. I don't remember seeing one."

"We should send Old Agna to look at it," Éowyn said as she dismounted next to Lothíriel. "She will know if it has been infected by a warg's poison."

"Please, do not make a fuss over me; I'm sure it is just the journey that has exhausted my body. I will see it cleaned and dressed when we get settled." Lothíriel said, bringing herself up to her full height next to Amrothos. She tentatively lowered her foot, still clutching onto Amrothos, however the moment her toes touched the ground a sharp lance of white hot pain ricocheted from her foot all the way up to her hip. She could not stop the cry that passed through her lips as she gripped onto Amrothos with both hands and her knee threatened to spill her to the ground once more.

"The journey, eh?" Amrothos chided her lightly, but Lothíriel ignored him for the pain. She bit her lower lip to stave off anymore exclamations as Éomer knelt to the ground beside her and Amrothos clutched her tightly against him to keep her steady, turning his worried eyes from her face to her foot.

Éomer gently pulled back the hem of her skirts to inspect her skin and slippered foot, and Lothíriel looked on with apprehension etched into her own features as his brow fell into a stern frown. "I do not like the way the bite looks." He looked up to her then. "You do not remember seeing a healer?"

Lothíriel shook her head slowly, her lip still between her teeth, and Éomer pursed his lips before turning his gaze back to her injury. He ran his hand along her ankle, palpating the skin, before moving to the top of her foot to do the same. Lothíriel felt Amrothos twitch next to her and indeed she herself grew flustered, but not because of Éomer's actions; more so the _why_ of them.

_I think…he is worried for me_.

The silly thought and the most ridiculous of smiles crossed her mind and curled her lips a split-second before they were both stolen by the ache from the touch of his callused hand. She retracted almost violently, unable to help the gasp that passed through her lips. It was not his hand's roughness that caused her to retract, but the sensation it caused to her injury; the gentlest brush felt like fire against her skin. She should not be caught smiling anyway, what with Éomer kneeling at her feet with her skirts in his hand!

"I will fetch Old Agna; Éowyn, see to it the princess gets to her room immediately." Éomer stood, his voice brokering no room for argument. However Lothíriel deemed to do so anyway, but before she could open her mouth, she suddenly found herself swept up into a pair of strong arms.

"Really Amrothos! I can walk!"

"Loth, the wounds are black. Your skin looks like scales. Have you not noticed?" Amrothos took the stairs to the Golden Hall without a moment's hesitation, his stride swift.

Lothíriel kicked her leg up straight out to look at it, frowning. The maneuver caused her hip to ache ever so slightly, but she looked on at the wound anyway. Indeed, what Amrothos said was true; she felt the blood leech from her face.

"I have been riding a horse for the past two days and it hasn't bothered me until I tried to walk today. That is, it pained me yesterday, but not like this; I thought nothing of it."

"I have heard tales of men losing limbs due to warg poison." Éowyn hurried up after them, her skirts gathered in her hands. "Hopefully Old Agna will be able to help you."

"Who is Old Agna?" Lothíriel asked, swallowing against the fear at Éowyn's comment, as her brother whisked her into the Hall and Éowyn guided them to the room the princess had occupied before.

"The healer at Edoras; she is blind in one eye and near deaf, but she is a miracle worker. Some say she has a touch of elvish magic in her blood." Éowyn opened the door to Lothíriel's borrowed chamber and Amrothos strode to the bed, delicately setting her atop the sheets. Immediately Lothíriel sat up to inspect her injury, reaching down to tentatively feel the bite marks. She gritted her teeth through the uncomfortable twinges that accompanied the movement, and indeed she found the skin around the lacerations flaked like the scales of a dead fish and the wounds themselves deeper than black. All the way to her ankle her skin was rough and hard to the touch.

_How did I not notice this before? _Lothíriel sat back into the pillows on the bed as Éowyn opened the curtains to the room and Amrothos went to start a fire in the hearth.

"Surely all this can wait until I have tended to Firebreather; you well know he despises anyone but me." Lothíriel suddenly tried to delay out of sheer fright; she did not want to believe that something could be truly wrong. It was only a bite, and through the thick leather of her boot no less!

"That horse needs to be put down." Amrothos mumbled from his crouched position before the hearth.

"Do not speak of him that way!" She sat up on shaking hands, her voice raised hotly.

"Rest easy, Lothíriel. I'm sure your brother meant nothing by his ill-thought words." Éowyn tossed Amrothos a glare before she took the drying cloth that accompanied the basin on the table next to the hearth and submerged it in the fresh water within. She gently wrung out the cloth and then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, preparing to remove Lothíriel's slippers. Her face fell into a mask of worry at her first close look at the bite, one that caused Lothíriel's heart to clench.

"Éowyn, please, I can do that." Lothíriel insisted, though she flinched when the slipper was removed from her injured foot.

"This is no trivial matter." Éowyn chided softly, setting the shoes aside. "I do not mind."

"Have you had any of your men come in with similar wounds?" Amrothos blew on the embers he had created, coercing the fire to grow.

"Wargs typically do not leave their prey alive." Éowyn washed the wounds, cleaning Lothíriel's foot of the dirt from the road. The maneuvers caused her much pain, but Lothíriel held her tongue; she was braver than that! "The princess was lucky."

_Lucky indeed that your brother was near_. Lothíriel thought, her heart beating harder, faster, at the mere thought of him.

There was barely a knock on the door before said savior barreled in, followed by an old crumpled woman. She was half his size and could barely keep up with his strides, and was telling him so as she crossed the threshold.

"Easy now, horse master!" She smacked toothless gums as she swept an unsteady course toward the bed, barely able to keep her head up to see her path. "Already you have forgotten from the last time I told you that I am nearing one hundred and one years old and cannot move as nimbly as I used to! And may the gods strike me down if it wasn't five minutes past."

"My lady," Éomer stopped and bowed shortly at the foot of the bed. "This is Old Agna; she will look at your wounds."

"Aye, Old Agna I am and look at your wounds I will. Though only with one eye. Don't worry though! It works just as well as two." Old Agna tapped her forehead with a gnarled finger and Lothíriel offered her a pained smile as Éowyn moved from the bed to give the healer room.

Old Agna set down the basket she had carried in on a withered arm on the bed next to Lothíriel. She waved her arms to free them of the cloying sleeves of her thick, brown robe which dragged on the ground when she walked. Her hair, white as the snow on the mountaintops and wavy to the very tips, just brushed her knees and was thin and only covered her head in patches. Her only working eye was the brightest of blues, the other a milky imitation. Her face was twisted with old age, drooping low in the cheeks and jowls, tanned from long days in the sun.

"Thank you for coming, Old Agna." Lothíriel replied.

"What?" Old Agna looked up at Éomer with a frown. "What did she say?"

"I said, 'thank you for coming, Old Agna'." Lothíriel said, louder this time.

The old woman ceased her movements and picked her head up to the best of her ability to squint her working eye almost to the point of closure at the princess, her lips thinning into a narrow pout. Lothíriel felt as open as any book at that moment, as if the old woman could read her darkest thoughts and most whimsical of fantasies, and had to mentally stop herself from squirming further into the comfort of the pillows. _Why does she stare at me such? _The inspection lasted only a few seconds, but Lothíriel had never felt more thoroughly scrutinized in her entire life. By anyone.

"Hm." Old Agna smoothed her hair back from her face and turned her gaze to Lothíriel's foot, thankfully allowing Lothíriel a chance to breathe. "So this is it then."

"I told them it was nothing; that it just needed cleaning and—"

"Hush." Old Agna barked, taking ahold of Lothíriel's foot gently. The princess recoiled, but Old Agna held firm.

"A warg's bite you said?" she murmured, gently turning Lothíriel's foot this way and that.

"Yes. It is not a Gundabad bite is it?" Éomer peered at Old Agna, his gaze harsh.

"Hush!"

Silence ensued and Lothíriel gritted through the increasing pain as Old Agna inspected her foot, prodding here and there, and then put the extremity on the bed. She pulled her basket closer and at her movement the other three in the room sidled forward, bending to see what she procured from her wares.

"No! No, no, no!" Old Agna suddenly thrust away from the bed, causing Éowyn to start, and pointed a crooked finger at Éomer. "I will not have the likes of you hovering over my every move!

"And you," she rounded on Amrothos. "You stink of horse. Be gone!"

Amrothos's jaw dropped and Éomer bristled indignantly. "Woman—"

"Don't you 'woman' me!" Old Agna rounded back on Éomer. "Off with you! I cannot have you crowding me!"

His jaw working furiously to contain his ire, Éomer gave a stiff bow to the healer and headed for the door without another word. Amrothos followed, his jaw returned to its usual position, though he cast his sister a longing gaze when he reached the door.

"I will return to you shortly."

"Out!" Old Agna rattled, a wheezing cough stealing her breath. That did not deter her from rounding on Éowyn, her one eye narrowed. "And you—"

"I am staying." Éowyn said firmly, straightening her spine. "She is my dear friend and I will see to her comfort. I will stay out of your way, Old Agna, but I will stay."

The healer coughed once more before clearing her throat and grumbling, "All right. But you stay still and haud yer wheesht!"

"Haud yer wheesht?" Lothíriel asked dumbly.

"That goes for you too." Old Agna moved back to her tote and began to rummage through the myriad of confections.

The woman might've been over a century old, but Lothíriel admitted with great astonishment that she was very deft with her hands and did not make one mistake. She mixed a rather foul-smelling paste the color of new spring grass out of some plants Lothíriel had never seen before and some unnamed animal parts. When Old Agna bid her turn her face she hesitated, but when the old woman produced a small, shining blade with a negligent shrug of her shoulders Lothíriel closed her eyes and groped for Éowyn's hand. Though she was quick about it, it still hurt when Old Agna pried the scabs from her skin, throwing them to the fire. Lothíriel bled black blood from the wounds and after pinching them to expel the thickest and foulest of it, Old Agna quickly applied the paste. It burned the open injuries but stung like frostbite on her flesh, chilling Lothíriel to the bone.

"A warg bite, but not a Gundabad. You are lucky yet." Old Agna delved into her satchel for a thick roll of yellow linen that smelled faintly of lavender. "The remedy will draw the poison from your body and restore health to your skin; do not ask how, you will not understand. Clean the wounds and change the paste every two hours and dress with a fresh bandage. I will leave this roll with you to do so. The linen will help to soothe the ache." She began to deftly roll the linen about Lothiriel's foot and ankle, and indeed the linen began to calm her raging skin. "Do not prop the foot up; that will decrease your blood flow to the extremity and delay healing time. I can leave you some herbs for added relief against the effects of the paste, if you would like."

Lothíriel was pale as she asked, "I will not lose my foot, will I?"

Old Agna barked out a shrill laugh. "Hardly!"

Lothíriel shook her head numbly. "I do not understand; I traveled all the way to Helm's Deep and back, using my foot as if it were unhurt. Why am I being affected like this now?"

Old Agna rattled out another cough. "Depending on the amount of poison, sometimes it takes a while to react in your body. I daresay your own tried to fight it off as best it could, but it was still not enough. You are very lucky; it could've been much worse."

Lothíriel flexed her foot experimentally and then wished she hadn't. "So I will be all right?"

"Oh aye; by this time tomorrow you should be almost completely healed." Old Agna was packing away her belongings and did not see Lothíriel's shocked expression. "But stay off of it until then!"

"Truly? And there will be no permanent damage?"

"You may have some scarring, but they do not call me a miracle worker for nothing." Old Agna cackled, pulling her satchel over her forearm to dangle. "And they do not call me a stubborn old tyrant for nothing, either. Heed my words princess, and you will be dancing in no time."

_Dancing? What has dancing got to do with anything?_

Relief settled over Lothíriel's shoulders as she said genuinely, "I cannot thank you enough, Agna."

"It's Old Agna! By the gods woman, are you deaf?" She smacked her gums at Lothíriel and shook her head like a dog would rid its fur of water. "The disrespect of the youth astounds me…"

Éowyn showed Old Agna to the door and Lothíriel giggled when the old woman bristled at the sight of Éomer waiting outside.

"What are you, her shadow, boy?" she chastised, her mouth working furiously to clout her gums. "Oh hush; you weary me. Take me home! I daresay it is past time for my afternoon nap."

Éowyn shut the door quietly and moved to clear Lothíriel's bed of the linen and small jar of paste left by Old Agna. Lothíriel sighed and settled into the pillows of the bed, her body suddenly very weary.

"I will leave you to rest," Éowyn said as she placed the healer's wares on the table by the hearth. "I think I myself might take to nap; it has been a long journey."

In response Lothíriel yawned. Éowyn smiled and moved to the bed to take her hand. "Even though she is brittle, the old woman knows what she is doing; many times I have seen her bring people back from the brink of death. I would trust her with my own life."

"What are you talking about? I quite like the old hag." Lothíriel said with a smile that caused Éowyn to laugh.

"I'm glad you will be all right; get some rest now." Éowyn squeezed her hand and then left the room, and it was not more than a heartbeat's pass later that Lothíriel had shut her eyes and drifted off into a sound sleep.

* * *

Éowyn did not even make it to the throne room of the Golden Hall before her brother was upon her. He was moving briskly, that perpetual scowl of his back in place. He still hadn't washed from their journey and smelled of sweat and horse, his face streaked with dirt and the harsh glare of the sun.

"How is she? Why have you left?" he asked without preamble, stopping before Éowyn and much too close to her for her liking. Éowyn raised an eyebrow up at her brother and stepped back, not for one second missing the worried undertone to Éomer's harsh voice.

"Are you not supposed to be taking Old Agna back to her home?" Éowyn eluded.

"She is in Éothain's care." Éomer brushed her comment aside, his scowl deepening. "How is Princess Lothíriel?"

"She is resting now. Old Agna put a paste on her wounds after removing the scabs and has given instructions on how to care for it." she replied, clasping her hands together as she looked up at her brother with a sly smile. "You seem to care much for the well being of the princess."

Éomer opened his mouth to hastily retort, but seemed to think better of it. Éowyn watched with fascination as a blush quickly touched her brother's cheeks before Éomer ducked his head and cleared his throat.

"I only wish for the safety and health of our allies."

"Hm," Éowyn smiled wider, but before she could continue to pester her brother he said, "Speaking of which, Merry and Pippin, two hobbits who had been in the company of Frodo, arrived yesterday. They bring news of the fall of Isengard."

"The fall of Isengard!" Éowyn gasped, her eyes wide.

"Aye; they are in talking with Théoden now. Come." Éomer turned on his heel and Éowyn struggled to keep up with his long strides as he led the way to the throne room.

They entered through a side door and Éowyn was momentarily taken aback by the number of people interspersed throughout the columns and wide berth of the thoroughfare. Théoden sat on his throne looking pensive as the hobbits before him recounted their tale, Gandalf, Aragorn, Amrothos, Gimli, Legolas, a handful of guards, and Théoden's advisors all flanking them. None of them had bathed or shed their armor from the journey, looking as sullied and exhausted as Éowyn herself felt.

"The Ents came from the forest and, enraged at the sight of ruination of the land, stormed Isengard. They began to destroy the tower and kill the orcs—"

"And we helped too!" the other hobbit said excitedly, a bright smile encapsulating his features.

The first hobbit cast his friend an annoyed look but continued as if he hadn't spoken. "They broke the dam holding the Angren and it put out the fires of the labors of the orcs and drowned those who could not get out. Saruman remains trapped at Orthanc under the supervision of the Ents led by Treebeard."

"He left Isengard unprotected when he stormed Helm's Deep." Aragorn said slowly, his eyes traveling to meet Gandalf's.

"And he underestimated the power of the Ents." Gandalf agreed.

"Masters Merry and Pippin, Rohan owes you for your great deeds of valor." Théoden rose from his seat to bow slightly to the hobbits. His eyes flickered to Éowyn then and he nodded slightly, preparing her for his next words. "My niece Éowyn will see you to rooms where you can rest and then join us for the evening meal."

Éowyn stepped forth and smiled at the hobbits, extending a hand. "This way if you will, sir hobbits."

As soon as she had departed Théoden took to pacing the top of the dais, his head bent and a hand poised on his chin.

"Where do we go from here?" Gimli spoke up then, leaning on his axe. "That army of Saruman's may have retreated, but they are not all accounted for. And there are bound to be more of the wretched creatures."

"Gimli is right; this war is far from over." Legolas interjected, his eyes narrowed on Théoden. "They will turn their eyes to Minas Tirith next."

"I am surprised it has not already come to that." Amrothos murmured, his own brow marred with a severe frown. "My brother Elphir rode for Minas Tirith at my father's behest; we had not heard word from Denethor for many months. It rests closely to Mordor, and being the capital of Gondor makes the City of Kings a prime target for our enemy."

"Gondor needs to be warned." Aragorn said softly, his gaze fixed on Théoden's restless frame. "If Sauron's army is not already there."

"I worry though." Amrothos said. "Madness has taken my uncle; he may not heed the warning."

Gandalf began to walk languorously around the room, leading the way with his staff. It struck against the stone floor and echoed throughout the hall, ringing in the silence. "You are right. He may not. But what if Gondor were to _call_ _for aide_? If the beacons are lit, Rohan must ride out ready for war."

Théoden did not speak, but his steps did falter every so slightly.

"If Gondor calls for aide—"

"Gondor!" Théoden snarled, spinning to face those before the dais. "What do we owe _Gondor_? Where was Gondor when Rohan rode to Helm's Deep? Where was Gondor as our men fought and died? Where was Gondor when we armed farmers and ferriers and _children_ with rusted swords and worn shields?" He stopped his tirade and continued his pacing, his steps more harried. "No."

"No?" Gandalf asked, stopping to look at Théoden with a befuddled expression.

"We will remain here to strengthen and protect our own." Théoden stepped down from the dais, moving to stand before Gandalf to meet him eye to eye. His voice was soft, almost dangerously so, when he asked, "Why would we ride to the aide of those who did not come to ours?"

"This is no time to weep pity," Aragorn said loudly, stepping forth to confront Théoden. "The War for the One Ring is upon us; has Helm's Deep taught you nothing?"

"You would readily let Minas Tirith fall?" Amrothos asked in shock. "What of the rest of Middle Earth? Will you only stand by your own as the world burns around you?"

"I will hear no more of this rabble!" Théoden strode past the lot of them flanked by a pair of guards, headed for the main doors. "My men, those who were loyal and fought bravely for this realm, lie wounded or near death, and deserve the honor of their king."

As the double doors to throne room slammed shut, those left behind turned to each other to share looks of disdained bafflement.

"He cannot be serious." Gimli growled, slamming the butt of his axe into the ground.

"He speaks of loyalty," Legolas spat, his bright eyes now dark with contempt. "What does he know of loyalty?"

"He is king," Éomer interjected, though he did so with scorn. "We cannot go against him."

"Sauron's army will take them completely off guard and the men of Minas Tirith will be destroyed. Gondor must be warned, Gandalf." Aragorn turned to face Gandalf once more.

"They will be." The wizard said cryptically, drumming his fingers against the shaft of his staff. He turned to face Aragorn then and glided to him until their shoulders touched. His voice was quiet as he said, "You must come by another road. Follow the River. Look to the Black Ships. Understand this. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone.

"I ride for Minas Tirith."

* * *

Lothíriel had not napped well and had awoken grumpily to a gentle knocking on her borrowed chamber's door. A maid had entered, one who had been bid by Old Agna to help dress Lothíriel's wounds. Lothíriel reluctantly allowed her to do so; she did not like being coddled and the treatment was not a pleasant one. The maid also helped her wash with the water in the basin and change into a fresh shift and night robe, seeing as how the princess was to be bedridden at least until the morrow.

Lothíriel asked for a comb and while one was being procured she took down her plaited coronet, letting her hair fall in waves over her shoulders. The maid had offered to do the deed of unknotting her hair for her but Lothíriel dismissed her, still slightly irritable from her not nearly refreshing enough nap.

Lothíriel sighed as she passed the comb through her hair, her eyes riveted to the goings-on through the open window. Townspeople moved unhurriedly along the passageways, leading livestock or toting their wares. The curling smoke of cooking fires rose from many of the thatched roofs, teasing Lothíriel's senses with the thought of a hearty meal. A breeze bringing the smells of Edoras floated through the open shutters and Lothíriel closed her eyes to take in the smell of horse, wood fires, and summer grass. If she were not mistaken it would rain this evening.

_I hope it is a storm, _she thought, opening her eyes once more. _I rather like storms._

The clouds that wandered across the blue Rohirric sky were puffy and white, reminding Lothíriel of lamb's wool. The wind had picked up since she had been on the road this morning, and oh how she wished she were riding the shoreline with Seawind in this moment.

_But if you were home you would've never met that dashing horse lord, _her mind reminded her, causing Lothíriel to blush and smile as if there were someone around to read her thoughts.

Lothíriel picked up a lock of her hair and began to twist it about one of her fingers, her eyes fixated on the village far from her open window. _Dashing indeed. Witty too. Very intelligent. A strong, virile man. And he seemed so worried about me today…_

As Lothíriel began to plait her hair, her musings turned to her own feelings. _I can hardly breathe when he's around; my mind turns to horse fodder and my words tumble from lips as though I've never spoken a word in my life. And surely I will swoon from the way my heart flutters whenever he is within eyesight…_

Never, out of all the men she had ever come across in her twenty years of living, had she met anyone who made her feel like Éomer, and in such a short time too! She had not known him for very long, this was true, but she had come to understand that he was as honorable as he was handsome, clever as he was strapping. He had saved her life above all else, Amrothos had told her, changing the tide of the battle to come to her rescue. Not many men would risk their own safety in such dire times.

Indeed, the suitors that her father had surreptitiously urged her way paled in comparison to Éomer; Lothíriel smiled at the sudden secret surety that she would be able to spot him in a crowd of one thousand men. His smile sent her thoughts scattering to the wind, his laugh rumbled through her like summer thunder, and his touch was like the fire of the sun searing through her skin all the way to tease the core of her soul. His hair was the color of spun, golden silk, his eyes the deepest, warmest brown she had ever beheld. And the way he looked at her, with such open delight in those eyes, made her feel like the only woman in the world. He made her forget she had duty and boundaries to abide by. He made her want to embody all that there was to being a woman; someone who could laugh uninhibited at harmless flirts, blush from outrageous compliments, and pick out her prettiest gown (if only she had her own clothes to choose from!) to attract hungry eyes. Éomer did that to her; he brought her great, unadulterated joy.

_But you know it cannot be_, her mind whispered, and with it the fire in her soul flickered. _Father would never let you marry a mere marshal. No, my dear, you are bound for a different type of fate._

She scowled at her conscious, instantly rebuking. _Why? Why should I bend to the will of others and sacrifice my own happiness?_ Her hands were working furiously with her thoughts, unraveling the braid she had just finished.

However to interrupt her thoughts came a knock on the door, and when Lothíriel beckoned the knocker to enter Amrothos strode in, clean and dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches, both of the color black. Against his black hair and beard he looked almost scary, but the small basket boasting of colorful thread and various shapes and sizes of needles dampened the ominous image.

Lothíriel raised a brow as he shut the door, "Have you come to stitch and gossip?"

Amrothos glowered at her and set the basket down on her bed before moving to stoke the fire. "I thought, since you are under strict orders of bed rest, that you would enjoy something to pass the time with, as well as my company."

"Being thoughtful is not like you," Lothíriel said and Amrothos shot a glare over his shoulder. "But thank you; I daresay my stitching skills could use some practice."

Lothíriel abandoned her hair and reached for the basket with a sigh as a gust of wind whipped through the room, upsetting the tapestries on the wall. With the red coverlet pooled about her waist and her night robe of heavy green fabric covering her from her neck down, she was warm enough that the breeze did not unsettle her. She pulled the basket into her lap and began to root about the thread, searching for a color to her liking.

"I sent another message to father telling him all that has transpired. I haven't heard anything from the previous two messages, but I hope we stay here long enough to receive a reply." Amrothos said, finally taking up the chair by the hearth. "The way Théoden was speaking it sounds like we may remain in Rohan for the time being."

"Have you thought on what is to become of you and I?" Lothíriel asked.

"Until I hear otherwise from father, I don't think it would be best for us to be caught on the road unawares." Amrothos grinned, settling down into the chair and scratching his beard. "We are having too much fun, anyway."

Lothíriel quelled the fluttering of her heart and forced herself to concentrate on choosing a thread. "What has Théoden said that makes you think we will be staying in Rohan?"

"Strider remarked that Gondor needs to be warned of the looming threat of Sauron, but Théoden would hear none of it. He got very angry and became bitter, asking where was Gondor when Rohan needed help."

"Well that is childish of him. It should not matter; it is his duty as king to protect his people and bolster his allies."

"Aye, very. But I do believe the White Wizard has something up his sleeve. He spoke some rubbish to Aragorn that none of us understood and whisked out of the room. But you know the legend of Mithrandir; he is always twisting the plot subtly here and there to arch the outcome in favor of good, though we never know it until it is done."

"I have heard." Lothíriel smiled lightly, and so the conversation flowed, from speaking about the feats of the greatest wizard (in Lothíriel's opinion, anyway) Middle Earth has ever known to more trivial matters. She found the afternoon passed swiftly with her brother and in no time at all there was the maid again, bidding to change her dressing.

"Supper should be ready; I will see to it that you get a plate." Amrothos stood from the chair, stretching thick arms above his head.

As the maid readied her supplies and Amrothos strode for the door, Lothíriel called after him, "And some wine!"

"All they drink here is ale; dastardly stuff it is, but it'll put hair on your chest if you truly want some."

Lothíriel wanted to throw a pillow at him but could not get to one fast enough. Amrothos left laughing, and Lothíriel grumbled all the while the maid cleaned and redressed her wounds. It hurt less this time around but was still uncomfortable enough to cause her to grit her teeth, and she was relieved when the maid left her to her stitching.

She looked at the simple cloth she had been working on and sighed heavily before picking it up closer to inspect her stitches.

_Éowyn would laugh_, she thought, shaking her head at her clumsy lines.

Just as the thought crossed her mind a knock sounded, and happy for the distraction from her awful stitching Lothíriel called for the person to enter. Éowyn stuck her head in and smiled, before walking over the threshold carrying a tray piled high with food, three empty plates held beneath it. Lothíriel smiled at her friend and opened her mouth to greet her when suddenly another body moved into view. Éomer walked in behind his sister carrying a pitcher of some sort and wearing a devastatingly handsome smile, rendering Lothíriel speechless.

_And there goes my heart._ The organ stuttered and then began to beat incessantly, stealing her breath with its wild rattling.

"I hope we're not intruding," Éowyn said as Éomer closed the door behind him. "But I knew you would be hungry—"

"So did I."

Éowyn rolled her eyes and Lothíriel blushed through a scowl at Éomer, but Éowyn continued as though he hadn't spoken. "So I brought you a tray."

"And I some ale." Éomer held up the pitcher and Lothíriel took notice of the tankards he carried as well.

"Amrothos told us you would enjoy the company." Éowyn set the tray on the bed and began building a plate for Lothíriel. "We saw him in the hall on the way here."

Lothíriel's mouth watered as she watched Éowyn load the plate with cheese and bread, what looked like the leg of a chicken, some cherry tomatoes, dices of cucumber, and a steaming pile of potatoes. She hadn't eaten all day, she suddenly realized.

And as her eyes flickered to Éomer who was pouring the ale she realized she probably looked like a street urchin. Her hair was down and lay in unbecoming waves from her earlier coronet to pool at her hips. Lothíriel grabbed the ends of her robes and self-consciously pulled them closer, suddenly wishing she was wearing more than a shift underneath. And that she had braided her hair, maybe even pinched her cheeks to give them some color. She quickly gathered her hair over one shoulder and began to smooth it, desperately wishing she had asked for a full bath earlier.

_Good thing Éowyn is along too! _She could only imagine how the servants were gossiping at the lieutenant's presence in her room! From what she had gathered from Éowyn, it was not like the robustly stern marshal to make house calls.

"I think the way he put it was something like, 'she's so bored back there she will probably stick herself in the eye with a needle to end her unrelenting suffering'." Éomer quipped, stealing a piece of cheese from the plate. Éowyn smacked his hand but Éomer jumped back, winking at Lothíriel as he chewed the cheese and went to go retrieve the ale he had poured.

"I'm quite sure I said something along those lines." Lothíriel agreed, earning a giggle from her female friend. "But really, you two did not have to come to visit. I would've eaten eventually."

Her stomach chose then to growl and Éowyn handed her the hefty plate with a knowing look. Lothíriel took it and could not resist reaching for a tomato to pop into her watering mouth. Éowyn smiled and perched on the end of the bed, taking the tankard from her brother as he walked over to the ladies. He handed one to Lothíriel as well and she took it with a smile before saying, "My brother said your ale here will put hair on your chest."

Éowyn sputtered while Éomer roared with laughter, pausing in his journey back to the table by the hearth. Lothíriel could not help but laugh herself as she swallowed her tomato. "I hope not, for I like my chest the way it is."

Her comment was meant to be innocent, but while Éowyn laughed Éomer turned to face her, his eyes betraying his thoughts as they traveled to her hidden bosom. Lothíriel blushed, belatedly realizing what her words could mean to a man in his prime. She quickly averted her eyes to her plate and hastily filled her mouth with food to avoid further discussion on the topic of her chest.

"I'm sure Amrothos has told you all that has happened since we've returned." Éowyn had regained her composure a few moments later and said this before sipping her ale. When Lothíriel nodded, she continued. "Did he speak of the celebration?"

"Celebration?" Lothíriel took a sip of the ale and choked on the thickness of it, her eyes nearly popping from her skull. Éowyn laughed and Éomer shook his head and smiled, delving into his own plate by his seat next to the hearth.

"Oh good gracious," Lothíriel wheezed in an agonized breath, rubbing her chest. "How do you drink that?"

"You get used to the taste after a while." Éowyn shrugged, popping a tomato into her mouth.

"It is tradition to throw a celebration after victory." Éomer spoke up through a mouthful of food. "It is a time of great revelry; we celebrate the living and honor the valor of the dead."

"The whole village is usually invited and the hall is packed with guests. Théoden has declared it in two day's time. Not enough time to get you a proper gown, but at least your foot will be healed enough to enjoy the dancing. The Rohirric dances are not quite like your Gondorian ones." Éowyn smiled broadly. "Something tells me you'll like ours better."

_Dancing indeed, Old Agna_, Lothíriel recalled with a smile. Her esteem of the woman grew and she silently hoped that the old woman would live to see many more summers.

"Well if all you Rohirric women weren't so short there would be a gown for me to fit into." Lothíriel retorted, drawing a snort from Éomer.

"I think you are fine just as you are, princess." Éomer said, though his eyes remained on his plate.

"Thank you, my lord. Maybe your sister could use a lesson in your manners." Lothíriel stuck her tongue out at Éowyn to distract herself from the blush from his words, causing the lady to laugh.

"I do not think you want me to adopt my brother's mannerisms. Walking around shirtless and belching like a pig are quite unbecoming for a lady."

At the mention of Éomer shirtless, Lothíriel's mouth watered more than when she saw her supper arrive. The image her mind conjured made her squirm against the pillows of her bed and she reached for the ale to hide her distress.

_Something has to save me from these lewd thoughts_, she mused, tipping back the tankard. _Else I'll find myself following the shadow of Morgoth through the Door of Night, never to see the light again._

* * *

Note: Sorry for the day delay; I finally had a day off where I wasn't inundated with obligations, so I was out visiting friends all day! When I got home I was exhausted and couldn't do more than edit this chapter before falling asleep smack on my keyboard!

Another long one, I know, but enjoyable all the same! I had fun writing it; Old Agna is one of my favorite (made up) characters. I understand that "haud yer wheesht" is more of an archaic Scottish term than anything, but I knew when I designed her that I could see her saying that, and I think it fits her perfectly. And again, some of the things Tolkien wrote and what I have may not match, and I'm aware of that. Any questions or comments I'd be more than obliged to answer! =] Thanks for stopping by! As always, I cherish every single one of you and your endearing loyalty to my writings; I could not be more grateful for you all!

Until next week!


	13. Chapter 13: Archer Queen

**Chapter Thirteen: ****Archer Queen**

The next morning Lothíriel was up and about testing her weight on her foot before the maid who had been tending to her arrived. She had woken up to the sounds of chattering birds, and the first thing she had done was pull the appendage from the bed linen to inspect the bandage and then tentatively rotate her ankle. To Lothíriel's extreme delight the movement caused her no harm! She had touched it then, and her own fingers had drawn forth no pain. So, dressed in nothing but her shift and enjoying the cool temperature the night rain had brought, Lothíriel hummed a lively tune as she jigged about her room on a foot that felt as good as new! The sun was sparkling in the morning dew and a soft summer breeze teased her senses, making her mood uncharacteristically cheerful first thing in the morning.

She arced in a swirl of her shift, her hair fluttering in long strands about her head, when suddenly the door opened and the maid bustled over the threshold.

"Princess!" The maid let out a horrified gasp and upended the linen she had brought on the bed, rushing for Lothíriel. "You mustn't do that!"

Lothíriel laughed and spread her arms wide. "Look at me! Old Agna _is_ a miracle worker!"

"Aye, and she would not like it overmuch if she could see you now!" The maid took Lothíriel's arm and tried to draw her over to the bed, but Lothíriel would have none of it.

"Pah! I am fine! Better than fine! Fetch me a bath and then I am leaving this room; the day is beautiful and I will not spend another moment inside."

The maid hesitated, her eyes drawn in her distraught. Lothíriel raised a brow at her, daring her to argue, pursing her lips into a smirk that would deter the most notorious of men. The maid sighed loudly and did as Lothíriel bid, but grumbled all the while.

In no time at all a tub was procured and Lothíriel was stripped down to the flesh she was born in, shivering against the chilled morning air. The maid bent to remove the stiffened bandage so Lothíriel could bathe, and the older woman could not suppress a look of surprise at the healing that had taken place overnight; the bite marks were smaller and red instead of black, and the skin surrounding the wounds was no longer scaled or hard. Lothíriel could not contain a smirk of triumph.

_I could kiss that old hag!_

The maid helped Lothíriel into her bath and scrubbed her raw, doing her hair through twice. The princess felt better than a pile of unending gold as the maid dressed her in another borrowed gown that was the color of her eyes with a darker shaded bodice.

"I think I'll wear the boots today." Lothíriel said as the maid pulled a pair of borrowed slippers forth. "They'll offer better support."

The maid nodded at the logic and Lothíriel held still as that awful-smelling paste was applied to her injuries and then her foot wrapped. The paste barely stung before settling into a dull ache, and then the ache faded into nothingness that brought a wide grin to Lothíriel's face. _Elvish magic indeed. _She braided her hair into a single plait to lie straight down her back and, looking in the reflecting glass, was more than pleased with her visage.

_There_, she thought as she pinched her cheeks to give her a rosy hue. The gown was small; the cuffs almost too tight around her wrists, the hem exposing her choice of footwear, and the neckline dipping precariously low. She was adjusting her bosom to fit better while the maid pulled her bed to rights when suddenly a knock sounded and Éowyn entered, chewing on an apple.

"I was hoping I would find you up." she remarked, tossing Lothíriel another apple.

She caught it and spun for her friend. "I'm as good as new! Come; let us see what we can get into this day." Lothíriel bit into her apple and linked her arm with Éowyn's, causing her wide sleeve to dangle from both of their arms. The Lady of Rohan was dressed in a butter yellow gown with delicate embroidery of white where the bodice would be. She looked ravishing, her long hair flowing and contained by a dainty, gold circlet.

"You are sure? It does not pain you?" Éowyn hesitated momentarily, though found her vacillation deterred by Lothíriel's laughing smile.

"If you will not accompany me, know that I am leaving this room anyway." Lothíriel threatened.

"If you must coerce me so…" Éowyn sighed heavily, though her eyes betrayed her conspiring mirth as her smile grew. "I want to see more of that archery skill you posses. I am not sure I believed my eyes when I saw you."

"To the range it is!" Lothíriel chewed happily on her apple as they walked. "Where is my brother this morning? If he knew of our plans he would have something to say and I am not awake enough to tolerate his mouth."

"He is at breakfast with the rest of the men. I told them that I was going to visit you and bring you something to break your fast; I knew it would be easier to sneak away if they were elbow-deep in their meal."

Lothíriel threw back her head and laughed. "How smart you are! I knew I had found a kindred spirit in you!"

The woman bustled out of the hall and into the bright sunlight with no one the wiser save a few servants, giggling in their conspiracy. The wind was gentle now, but the hint of rain lingered in the air. It had stormed last night and Lothíriel had spent the darkness on her side watching the lightning streak through the sky, her mind inundated with thoughts of a certain golden marshal.

"Still you limp; are you in pain?" Éowyn asked as the women finished the stairs to the Golden Hall and turned right, headed for the archery range.

"She is merely stubborn; you will have come to know that by now."

Both women jumped and turned in unison to find themselves confronted by a smiling Mithrandir. The women curtsied and Gandalf bowed in response, stepping aside to reveal _two small hobbits!_

Lothíriel could not hold back a gasp of delighted surprise as Gandalf introduced, "Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck at your services, my lady princess."

"An honor, my lords." Lothíriel curtsied again, gracing the hobbits with a bewitching smile, causing both men to blush.

"How do you fare, Princess Lothíriel? I heard about your warg bite; no small thing indeed." Gandalf asked, peering down at her with kind, albeit mischievous eyes as he took his staff in his opposite hand.

Gandalf was always a sight in his pristine ivory robes, long white beard, and piercing blue eyes, and Lothíriel would be forever enchanted by his endearing manners and knowing smile. "I am doing well thanks to the charming Old Agna."

Gandalf chuckled. "Charming indeed. She is nigh a miracle worker, though I do say I could do without the sharp tongue."

"I will forever tout her skill; I limp slightly, but feel little pain. The marks themselves look as though they will be forgotten in another day's time." Lothíriel said, beaming up at Gandalf.

"Now now, the woman needs no bigger a head than she already has." But his eyes twinkled. "I am happy to see you up and about, Lothíriel, and that you have made fast friends with the Lady of Rohan."

Lothíriel and Éowyn shared a smile. "It is an honor to be in your presence, Mithrandir, as always."

"Oh come now." Gandalf said, though a shy showing of color rose on his weathered cheeks.

"Where are you off to, Master Gandalf?" Éowyn asked, taking note of the satchel one of the hobbits toted.

"Pippin and I are off to Minas Tirith to pay your uncle Denethor a visit." Gandalf said, looking pointedly at Lothíriel. "I daresay I am long overdue."

"You will have to pay him my respects; I miss him much, and my cousin Faramir."

"You know about Boromir then."

"Yes," Lothíriel said, casting her eyes to the ground. "And he will be missed much."

"He was a good man. A brave man." The hobbit Merry spoke up then in his lilting Shire accent, his brown eyes hard, but kind. "He risked his life to keep us safe."

Lothíriel smiled. "You were part of the Fellowship then, and knew him well?"

"Aye, my lady. He was a valiant soldier." Pippin replied, offering Lothíriel a shy smile.

"And forever may his soul rest in peace for the bravery he offered Middle Earth." Gandalf bowed his head in reverence and then turned to the hobbits. "Come now Pippin, we must be off." He turned back to the women. "My ladies, I wish you health and happiness, and all the luck in the world. You will need it yet."

And with that the White Wizard glided off toward the stables, the hobbits struggling to keep up with his long gait. Éowyn and Lothíriel exchanged a look of befuddlement before Lothíriel shrugged and said, "Come on, lead the way. I am eager to make your Rohirric guards tremble in their boots."

_Although, I must say the amount of people that have warned me of my future is quite boggling._

They descended the long hill where Edoras resided, nodding to townsfolk and dodging happy children. They embarked beyond the barracks and when they reached flat land at the bottom of the towering city they found the training grounds. The yard was packed with soldiers, some sparring, others lingering to talk with one another in the brisk morning air. As the ladies walked toward the practice bows and arrows the soldiers paused and bowed, offering words of greeting, and Lothíriel did not fail to notice that many stared long after her and Éowyn had passed, speaking in whispering tones.

"They are not used to seeing a lady on the field. It has been a long time since a woman has taken up the title of shieldmaiden." Éowyn explained. "And, I do say, we make quite the beguiling pair."

Lothíriel giggled, her eyes straying to a group of young, becoming soldiers. They were handsome, yes, but she turned her eyes away soon enough.

_No one can hold my attention such as he._

"What is a shieldmaiden?"

"A woman who would sacrifice her life and duty to fight for her country. She is revered and prized among her people, and would die with honor for her folk." Éowyn said proudly.

"You would call yourself a shieldmaiden?" Lothíriel asked as they stopped before the bows and she began to inspect the wares.

"Aye; if it were up to me, I would ride out on the front lines every time." Éowyn remarked, watching as Lothíriel picked her weapon, testing the string and the flexibility of the bow.

"I never understood why my father would not let me fight. If I am able and willing, why can't I?" Lothíriel asked, taking her bow and standing to her full height to face Éowyn. "It seems silly."

"I agree. But they are men and they know best."

The two women shared a long look before bursting into laughter. Éowyn took Lothíriel's elbow and guided her to the first target which was only twenty paces deep. To the right the targets became further distanced; thirty paces, fifty, seventy, and then a galling hundred. Lothíriel knew she could do each with ease and told Éowyn as such.

"A wager then. I will buy you a new gown if you hit the hundred-pace mark dead on."

"And if I miss I will buy you one." Lothíriel agreed, and the ladies curtsied at one another.

A handful of men had begun to gaggle around the line of stone fencing separating the range from the sparring yard. They did not try and hide the fact that they watched the two women while Lothíriel notched an arrow to her bow and Éowyn stepped back to give her space.

"Am I allowed a few practice rounds? I have not been dutiful in my practice as of late." Lothíriel glanced over her shoulder at Éowyn, who bowed her head in acquiescence.

Lothíriel pulled the string back on her bow a few times, testing its strength and the depth at which she could pull it back. She flexed her fingers and rotated her shoulder, finding a good fit for the bow, before gauging the wind, the movement of the clouds, and the angle of the sun. She stepped before the first target at twenty paces and narrowed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it before she let the first arrow fly.

It hit the target of course, but not where she had aimed. But she had a better feel of the bow now and the next three arrows got closer to the center each time. Lothíriel felt more confident now, and as she notched her fifth arrow from the quiver resting on her back she looked over her shoulder at Éowyn once more.

"I shall begin now."

Éowyn nodded, clasping her hands before her and watching with her own smirk residing on pink lips. Lothíriel secretly deemed to see it falter in the face of her skill, and then a sudden idea struck her.

"What if I hit _every_ target dead on?" Lothíriel asked, raising her bow, her fingers deftly stringing the arrow into place against the twine with a skill that could only be acquired after years of fine practice. The wood had begun to rub against the fair skin of her fingers but it mattered not; her heady sense of competition was at the forefront and she was most enjoying it.

"Then I shall—"

The arrow sang through the air and Lothíriel knew by the looks on the soldiers' faces that she had hit her mark…without turning her eyes back to her target. She relished in watching Éowyn's eyes widen, unable to suppress a grin as she turned to find her arrow in the center of the twenty-pace target.

"You were saying?" Lothíriel skipped to the right, lining up before the thirty-pace target.

"That was only twenty paces." Éowyn scoffed, following her friend as two other men moved in to watch, murmuring amongst themselves and nodding in her direction.

"Oh?" Lothíriel notched another arrow, again sifting through the same motions before aiming at her target. At thirty paces she kept both eyes open and let the arrow fly, and it hit its mark better than the first.

The murmuring of the men grew louder; a few even nudged each other. Lothíriel turned to Éowyn with a smug smile on her face, wiggling her eyebrows. "You never answered my question."

"There is no possible way; Théodred even struggled with the hundred-pace mark and he was the best archer Rohan knew!"

Lothíriel sighed dramatically, meandering slowly to the next target. The men shifted to move with the two, a few more joining the pack. There was well over ten now and they openly pointed and spoke of Lothíriel.

"You doubt me, the Archer Queen of Dol Amroth?" Lothíriel asked Éowyn, stopping before the fifty-pace target. She quite liked the ring of Archer Queen and would have to thank Éomer later for the title.

"I do not doubt your skill, I just do not believe you can pull off such a feat!" Éowyn said, though laughter danced in her eyes.

Lothíriel took her stance, waited for the wind to lull, and hit the fifty-pace target perfectly in the center. Two of the men hooted and Éowyn crossed her arms though her lips twitched, fighting a grin.

"I shall remember that the next time there is a warg running for you." Lothíriel turned her nose up to Éowyn and took to the seventy-pace mark, the soldiers following.

"Seventy paces?"

"She made the first with her eyes closed."

"A woman? That good?"

"She would have to have been trained since birth…"

"I was!" Lothíriel chirped at the men happily, causing them to titter like a bunch of hens. Lothíriel turned her grey gaze to Éowyn and narrowed her eyes in mock thought. "What were you saying about the twenty-pace mark? That it was _only_ twenty paces?"

Lothíriel positioned herself in line with the target and pulled up her borrowed bow. She admired its delicateness and strength (though she sorely missed her own!) as she waited for the wind to die down and the sun dipped behind a small cloud. She quickly notched an arrow and drew back the bow, holding her breath as she turned her head. She sent Éowyn a wink as she let the arrow fly; there was nothing more satisfying than the _thwump _of the arrow hitting the target, knowing it struck the center.

A cry rose up from the men and Lothíriel turned to see her arrow wobbling just where she knew it would: in the center of the target. She grinned and turned to face a stricken Éowyn, whose jaw was close to resting on the ground.

"How did you do that?"

"What? That?" Lothíriel glanced carelessly at the target before she moved onto the last. "Child's play."

The hundred-pace target was no stranger to Lothíriel though she did wish she had her own bow for this. She had to have enough strength to pull the bow back without snapping it and she had just restrung her bow at home with new string; this one had proved valiant so far but the hundred-paced mark was going to be more difficult for sure. She stopped before the target and tested the string of her bow, her brows drawn as she gauged the distance between her and the last mark.

"If you hit this target my lady, it is with my pleasure that I would take you about the floor for a dance at the celebration!" One of the soldiers called, causing Lothíriel to turn in a swirl of skirts and laughter.

"Oh aye? And what is in it for me?"

The other soldiers guffawed at their comrade, some slapping him on the back as he winked at Lothíriel, undeterred by her teasing tongue.

"If you meet this mark my lady you may have _my_ bow." Another soldier offered.

"I will give you a horse out of my father's herd. A beautiful mare, not yet a year."

"I would find the loveliest of brooches, if only to see you wear it." Another soldier gushed, eliciting calls from his friends. There was quite a crowd of them now and they gathered close to watch Lothíriel.

"Hush!" she chastened, though she could not help but smile as her eyes twinkled to betray her delight. "I require utter silence."

"Be quiet!"

"The princess needs silence!"

A hush fell but the sounds of the village could be heard on the wind. Lothíriel closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the fresh air, a calm settling over her as it whipped her slim form this way and that. She opened her eyes and notched an arrow, lifting the bow to her shoulder. Her muscles had begun to strain but she relished in the feeling; she missed the ache that came with a good archery bout first thing in the morning.

She drew in a deep breath and held it, and with both eyes open she loosed her weapon, grinning as she watched it plunge into the center of the target.

_And with a borrowed bow from Rohan, no less!_

A loud cheer rent the air causing the nearby horses to startle. Lothíriel turned in a glorious twirl of dove-grey and curtsied so deeply it pained her foot, but she knew only joy. She laughed as she rose and the soldiers broke their pack to crowd her, gracing her with lavish compliments as Éowyn was pushed to the outskirts.

* * *

Éomer exchanged a disgruntled look with Éothain at the raucous sounds coming from the archery range beyond the barracks. He was already in a foul mood; he had left breakfast grumpier than he had come simply for the fact that Lothíriel had not been there. She was becoming a staple to his days, and he found himself looking for her when she was near, inquiring about her when she was not. He had wanted to go see her at her rooms to see how she fared from her injury, but going alone would've been a great dishonor to her fine reputation as a lady and Éowyn proved to be missing as well. And so he had sat and sulked, sipping his morning ale and listening as the other men conversed and ate their breakfast. After the meal had finished Éomer had excused himself with Éothain to take to the practice yard; it would not do in this time of idleness to lose his skill with his sword. He also knew it would do him well to deplete some of the sourness that encapsulated his mood with a good bout on the field.

It had not fallen beyond his notice, however, that Gandalf had excused himself early from the meal, beckoning Pippin along with him, and that Merry had followed. Conversely, Théoden had paid the White Wizard no mind, too engrossed with speaking to his advisors about Sauron's movements and Rohan's next effort in the War of the Ring. Éomer did not know what Gandalf was about, but he had seen him speak to Aragorn yesterday and knew the two had conjured some sort of plan. Éomer stayed quiet to his king because he thought Théoden foolish for refusing to call for the aide of Gondor, or at the very least warn them; after all, they needed to stand united before the evil of Sauron. But Théoden was still king nonetheless and everyone had to abide by his wishes no matter how much they disagreed. Still, instead of interfering, Éomer would sit back and see what Mithrandir had planned.

"What could they possibly have gotten into this early in the morning? It is not even nine yet." Éothain remarked as they happened upon a large group of soldiers at the end of the archery range, laughing and talking loudly near the last of the targets. Some inspected and prodded at the target that boasted of a single arrow in the center while others created a crowd where the line had been marked to shoot for it.

"I do not know." Éomer narrowed his eyes and his mood dampened even further. "But I think that is Éowyn."

Éomer quickened his stride and indeed, his sister dressed in bright yellow stood out like a goddess among common men, though she looked just as bad-tempered as he felt. She was standing on her tiptoes but huffed when her attempt to see over the men proved flawed, and she stepped back with an aggravated stamp, her small fists bunched at her sides. He must've caught her eye, however, because she glanced at him once and then again as if in disbelief, and froze still.

Although instead of explaining what all the uproar was about, or at the very least looking mildly guilty for having been found at the practice yard without him, her face bloomed into a smug smile and she stepped back even further, clearing her throat daintily.

"What goes on here?" Éomer barked, sending the soldiers before him to cease their incessant talking and disperse to reveal…

_Lothíriel_.

She was beaming radiant beauty, holding a bow and a quiver of arrows, her head thrown back in pure, innocent elation at something one of _his own men_ had said. She was dressed in a grey the color of morning fog, the garment tight and ill-fitting but still utterly becoming on her lithe and lean frame. Her beautiful, ebony hair was braided into a simple strand, _though I much rather prefer it loose like it was yesterday, _her cheeks rosy and grey eyes sparkling. His heart stopped beating and then a second later started pounding as his face grew hot and his scowl turned downright black.

_She's never smiled like that at me._

"Princess Lothíriel!" he snapped, claiming her attention as he strode forward. "What are you doing here surrounded by my men?" _Without a proper escort? Without _me?

"Éomer!" Lothíriel started, dropping into a hasty curtsy on wobbly feet. "I did not know you were there!"

"What is going on here?" Éomer asked hotly, reaching to take her arm as she teetered dangerously. "What are you doing out of your room? You are hurt!"

"I am fine," Lothíriel delicately extracted her arm, much to his chagrin and his soldiers' amusement, judging by the chuckles that followed her tidy disentanglement. Éomer slashed a glower at the sound as she said, "I just got finished proving to your sister what a magnificent and unmatched archer I am."

"You should've seen her, Lord Éomer!"

"She is better than the late, great Prince Théodred, gods strike me down if I'm wrong!"

"She hit the seventy-mark with her head turned!"

"Child's play, she said!"

The men all started talking at once and Lothíriel beamed yet again, basking in their compliments and praises. Éomer's temper flared when he noticed not just one set of eyes roaming to the low neckline of her gown or the tight flare of her waist, lingering on the lush curves.

"The Princess Lothíriel is a sight to behold!"

"Aye; beautiful, brave, and a fine archer!"

"And _I _get to dance with her at the celebration!"

"It is my mare that she will ride home!"

"Oh please," Lothíriel gushed, laying a hand on the nearest soldier whose eyes lit up from the inside out. "I could never take anything from any of you; I merely had to prove to Éowyn what a great _archer queen_ I am. It was all in jest!"

_Archer queen! _Éomer felt his ire lodge in his throat, leaving him speechless. _She uses my own words! Laying a hand on another… Their wandering eyes… I will throttle them! And her!_

"She'll be wearing my brooch the entire time!"

"Enough!" Éomer roared, causing Lothíriel's eyes to widen and Éowyn to choke on a laugh from the outside of the group. When all eyes turned to him, either making fun of his show of bad humor or shocked at his outburst, Éomer fumbled for his next words. "You…You are upsetting the princess, crowding her like that! Give her space!" He reached forward to take her arm once more but she deftly stepped out of his reach, a smirk crawling onto her features.

"On the contrary my lord," Lothíriel took the arm of the nearest soldier and linked it with her own. "I quite like the attention."

And Éomer could do nothing; not speak nor move nor even breathe as he watched her tip her chin back and walk past him, his own brother-at-arms walking with her. It was not even a heartbeat later that the chatter started up again and Éomer watched as his soldiers, some men of his _own éored_, flitted after the princess like lovesick birds. Éowyn sidled up to him, her hands clasped behind her back and a self-satisfied grin on her face.

"It seems the men have found a new champion." she teased, brushing past him to follow Lothíriel.

_New champion! _His ire boiled over and Éomer growled, meaning to follow the taunting harpy and her gaggle of hens.

"Éomer!" Éothain grabbed him, pulling him to a stop.

"What!" Éomer bit out, whirling to face his second-in-command.

Éothain stared at him for a good long while before he burst into the most absurd laughter Éomer had ever heard. It infuriated him. _She infuriates me! _He thought angrily, his hands clenching and flexing in stiff movements.

"What has gotten into you?" Éothain struggled to say through his boisterous laughter.

"It is not funny." Éomer ground out through clamped teeth, his eyes still fixed on Lothíriel as the soldiers escorted her to the sparring ring. He watched as they settled her on a nearby bench and a pair of them took to the field, deeming to impress the princess with their prowess. The others gathered around her chattered, and Éomer had no doubt they were dousing her in compliments.

"You look like you want to rip their heads off, at the very least." Éothain rumbled, wiping the mirth from his eyes. "Do not tell me the Princess of Dol Amroth has claimed your affections! Why, it has not gone unnoticed that you've spent a great deal of time with her."

"If you even think to utter one more word on that topic, I will see you silenced. Permanently."

Éothain knew the threat held no fire and merely howled with laughter once more, causing Éomer to bristle with barely contained fury.

"I am merely worried for her well being!" he said, though it was more for his own benefit than Éothain's.

_Claimed my affections. _Éomer thought crossly, taking to storming after the lot of them. _What an outrageous assertion!_

He stalked into the training ring just as the fight began, ripping Gúthwinë from his scabbard and causing the men to cry out in alarm, but it was Lothíriel's voice he heard above all others.

"Éomer!"

Éowyn exclaimed as well, "Brother! What are you doing?"

Éomer approached the soldier who had boasted that Lothíriel would wear his brooch, his sword before him and a vicious smile on his face. He grabbed the hilt with both hands and pointed the tip at the man, who he only now realized was Gamling!

_That heathen!_ That did not deter his ire, in fact it invoked it even further, and his grin broadened.

"Fight me."

"Éomer!"

"Fight me." Éomer repeated, ignoring his sister. "Draw your sword, Gamling."

"You'll get hurt using real blades; fetch a practice one if you are serious!" Éowyn said angrily, but still Éomer ignored her.

"You will fight for the right to grace her with something of your own. Draw your sword!"

Gamling could not refuse; his honor depended on it. He drew his sword.

"Éomer, stay this madness!" Lothíriel stood, forgetting her followers. "It was all in jest!"

Instead of answering Éomer charged at Gamling, and the Captain of Meduseld met his blow with a strong parry.

"Éomer, I meant nothing by it—"

Gamling had to bite his tongue as Éomer came at him with a series of twisting blows, causing the older man to retreat and lose ground to block the swings.

_Nothing by it! _Éomer struck him harder, grinding his teeth. _I saw the way your eyes traveled, old man!_

Gamling changed his defense to offense and drove the marshal back with a series of his own blows. Éomer gave up little ground and the change in the fight made him even angrier. He switched his grip to a one-handed one and caught Gamling in the gauntlet of his left hand, causing him to rear back and brace his forearm.

"Éomer! Please! That is enough! It is Gamling, for goodness sake!" Éowyn called, but Éomer was enraged, lost to all those around him. _She is a lady, a highborn lady, and deserves the utmost respect. _He took advantage of Gamling's falter and drove at him hard, whirling his blade this way and that until he knocked the sword to the ground and Gamling fell to his backside in the dirt.

"Yield!" Éomer ordered, Gúthwinë poised beneath his chin.

"I yield." Gamling heaved, his breath coming and going in heavy puffs.

"She is the Princess of Dol Amroth and will be treated as such," Éomer stepped forward as he dropped his sword, speaking so only Gamling could hear. "You will do well to remember that."

"Éomer, it was only a bit of fun—"

Éomer sheathed his sword and turned his back on Gamling, not even deeming to help him up off the ground like a true champion would. He was still cross and refused to meet any eyes as he left the ring, having gotten his point across quite clearly.

_They all will do well to remember it._

_ Myself most of all._

* * *

Lothíriel and Éowyn stood side-by-side watching with their mouths hanging open as Éomer stalked from the practice yard, Éothain scampering to follow him. The man who Gamling had initially taken to sparring with helped him to his feet and they talked in low voices of the temper of the marshal; Éomer was known to rage a time or two, but no one had ever seen anything like _that_.

"I daresay Théoden will hear of this." Éowyn said breathlessly. "I have never seen my brother so angry!"

"What in all the names of the Valar was that about? We were merely having fun!" Lothíriel gasped out, still staring after Éomer. _He looked positively vicious! Did I push him too far?_

"I think he would have us believe one thing over another." Éowyn couldn't help but smile, and her utterance drew the quizzical gaze of Lothíriel.

"Whatever do you mean?" Lothíriel asked, her heart still pounding in the cavity of her chest.

"You, my lady."

"Me, what?"

"It was all for you! His worry, his show of strength, both spoke of his desire for you. Though I daresay he would never want us to know; tis why he spoke of your injury, and then came up with that excuse that you were being crowded." Éowyn laughed as the soldiers dispersed from around them; Lothíriel had no doubt they were afraid to even be within earshot of her for fear of Éomer's blade. "Though, my brother has a terrible temper and that all came out in completely the wrong way. I shall have a talk with him about wooing you."

"Wooing me!" Lothíriel started, turning the color of one of those boiled crabs her brother Elphir liked to eat so much of.

"Don't you see? That's what that all was about. He was _jealous_!" Éowyn took her arm and led her away from the yard. "My brother, _jealous_!"

"Jealous? Of who?" Lothíriel was completely at a loss. Why, she did not want any of those soldiers! They were old, some probably even married! Were men so thick? "Of _Gamling_? He is my father's age!"

"Men are dense, my lady; very dense. They only see what is right before them and my brother is no different; if anything he is the worst of the lot." Éowyn explained.

Lothíriel felt herself bristle. "He has dealt with many women this way, then?" she caught herself asking and then cringed at her own transparency. _Jealousy indeed!_

"Well, I will admit I don't know the darker of his habits, but the way he is bumbling about you I would think not." Éowyn cackled then as they climbed the hill to Meduseld. "Come now, I owe you a dress."

Lothíriel allowed Éowyn to pull her along, her mind lost in thoughts of that wicked Marshal of the East Mark. _Who does he think he is, acting like that? _She thought vehemently, remembering how he had grabbed her to take her back to the Golden Hall. His touch had not enraged her but instead seared, stoking the fire within her to burn hotly.

_That still does not give him any right!_

_ But he was worried about me… _She bit her lower lip. _He fought for me, wanting to stand alone in my vision._

The smile that spread across her lips was one she tried to hide, but her attempts were futile. _Éowyn says he desires me… _He had acted a heathen, of that much was disastrously true, but he was still a gloriously handsome heathen. Fighting his own kin! For her! _Really, truly, was he jealous?_ The thought did not disgust her as she thought it would (because really, she had seen men act quite boorishly when jealousy was a factor before), but instead made her swell with pride and a strange happiness.

_If only he knew: he already does._


	14. Chapter 14: The Seven Deadly Sins

**Chapter Fourteen: The Seven Deadly Sins**

The dining hall of Meduseld bustled vigorously with activity at the noon meal in preparation for the celebration tomorrow. Columns and candelabras were dusted, windows were opened and cleaned, overflowing bouquets of wild flowers were arranged, and Lothíriel watched happily from her place at the high table as fresh game was brought in on long platters or in thick bundles. The talk from the servants was happy and eager and Lothíriel was pleased of this; in this time of war it was good to have a bright spot to focus on, if only for a little while.

"We have the most skilled seamstress in all of Rohan here in Edoras; Ollä will have a gown for me to purchase for you. Though I hope we get there before the other ladies of Edoras have, otherwise we will have nothing to choose from!" Éowyn was saying.

"Really Éowyn, I don't expect you to purchase a gown for me. Proving you wrong is enough for me." Lothíriel said, smiling around a mouthful of ham.

"No! Twas our stake and I agreed." Éowyn countered. "Have you thought of a color yet?"

Lothíriel was momentarily distracted by Éomer striding into the Golden Hall, doused with sweat and laughing with Éothain. He looked to be in much better spirits as he clapped his second on the shoulder and then strode for the high table, springing up the dais without losing his grin. As he rounded the table on the opposite end to find his seat, he briefly looked up to catch her staring and Lothíriel hastily diverted her eyes to her plate.

"Lothíriel? I asked what color you desired for your gown." Éowyn prodded, effectively returning Lothíriel's attention to her.

"Blue maybe?" Lothíriel said quickly to avoid the inquisitive arc to Éowyn's brows. The lady was not that easily deterred however; she looked about to find her brother taking his seat, and smirked smugly.

"My brother is very fond of blue." Éowyn remarked, turning her attention to her plate with an innocent lift of her brows.

"What about you?" Lothíriel struggled to change the tide of the conversation. "I think a darker color, to bring out the blue of your eyes. Perhaps violet?"

"I do not know if I have a violet gown," Éowyn remarked, and Lothíriel was glad for her own quick thinking of diversion. _I would've been the color of a tomato, and in turn the focus of my brother's taunting in no time. _"Perhaps we can take a look later. There is a trunk in my room where I think I may have trinkets for your hair and garb as well."

The thought of dressing up delighted Lothíriel. Her father had always lavished her with fine gifts and jewelry left by her mother, and Lothíriel had always taken the baubles for granted. Now, after not only not bathing on a daily basis but wearing the same outfit for a number of days in a row, how she yearned to dress and act like a woman! She also missed flirting shamelessly; the young guards at Dol Amroth were ever her prey and she liked being able to capture their interested gazes without much effort.

_Now, if I can just capture but one…_

"I would like that very much; I am excited for the celebration! We have not had one at Dol Amroth since last year, when I reached the age of twenty."

"You are only twenty? Pah! I feel as if I am an old maid compared to you! What month is your birthday?" Éowyn asked.

"October; I enjoy the fall months very much and the celebration for my birthday was decorated as such. How old are you? You cannot be much older than I!"

"Twenty and four, a spinster by standard." Éowyn remarked, causing Lothíriel to laugh.

"A spinster? Rubbish! Lesser men are merely intimidated by such a fine and independent woman; you have not met one strong enough to match your wills yet!"

"Exactly," Éowyn said, her mood turning dismal. "That, and I have a duty to Rohan and one of the most overbearing brothers I have ever met. I will not be so lucky to find love and marry for such; I know I will have to wed out of obligation. Tis why I have turned my secret attentions to being a shieldmaiden. At least in that respect I will be revered and wanted for some thing."

"Éowyn you are young yet! And more beautiful than any lady I have ever known. Do not dismay, your time will come!" Lothíriel reached forward to grasp her friend's hand, offering her an encouraging smile. "Besides, Théoden would not think much of your plan to be a shieldmaiden I am sure."

"I know I am past my time; women my age already have two or three children by now. I, on the other hand, look forward to serving my realm." Her smile did not reach her eyes as she spoke, and Lothíriel's heart wilted for her friend.

"I have faith that you are destined for greatness, both on and off the battlefield. You merely have to be patient." Lothíriel squeezed her hand a second time and then turned back to her meal, though she suddenly felt very sad for her friend. _I know it is easier to say those words than to live by them. _Indeed, patience was not one of her own virtues and much like Éowyn she dreaded the day when her own obligation to Dol Amroth would raise its ugly head.

The two fell into a conversation that was light and trivial and consisted mostly of party business shortly thereafter.

It was near the end of the meal that Lothíriel was trying to make some headway on that gods-awful ale they served in Rohan when she heard a throat clearing behind her. She looked up and over her shoulder and found a bowing Éomer behind her, and nearly choked on her beverage. She ignored Éowyn's telling gaze as she coughed her way through the ailment and struggled to address the lord.

"Lord Éomer, a pleasant surprise." _An understatement, really_.

"I came to offer my assistance; you have not been properly shown the city and I long to make up for my behavior this morning. Please, allow me to give you an excursion around the glory that is Edoras." He came out of his bow and his smile was blinding, rendering Lothíriel momentarily speechless.

Thankfully it was Éowyn who spoke up to fill the awkward lull. "How perfect! We were to go to Ollä's to obtain a dress for the princess for the celebration tomorrow."

"Then allow me to accompany you." Éomer took hold of Lothíriel's chair and she rose from her seat, her eyes traveling to her brother who was engrossed in conversation with Legolas.

_For his ill will against elves he seems to have taken to the Mirkwood prince quite well_, Lothíriel thought as Éomer explained, taking note of her lingering glance on Amrothos.

"They are debating swords." He offered his arm, which she took. She tried desperately to ignore her unsettled lunch now churning in her stomach and swallowed roughly. "I asked his leave earlier to take you about and he was too engrossed to care overmuch."

"Amrothos is only concerned with three things: women, wine, and warfare. I daresay he will be occupied for hours." Lothíriel responded as Éowyn took her brother's other arm and the three made off the dais, the servants beginning to clear their finished luncheons.

"Do you have no business to attend to with King Théoden?" Lothíriel asked as they strode from the hall back into the streaming sunlight of the early afternoon.

"He is busy with party preparations." Éomer discarded her thought as they made their way down the stairs. "It gives him something else to focus on besides this damnable war."

"Aye, I think so too. It will be good for all of us." Lothíriel replied, earning a smile from Éomer.

"Then let us not focus on war this day; something tells me we have plenty of that to come." Éowyn interjected, her smile radiant. "What color dress do you think Lothíriel should wear, Éomer?"

Lothíriel's cheeks scalded red hot at Éowyn's absurd question. "I do not think Lord Éomer cares for such trivial matters." She shot Éowyn a withering glare, one her friend paid absolutely not attention to. "Leave those matters to you and I. Why, Lord Éomer probably does not even deign to notice the color of ladies' gowns! He has more important things to ponder such as—"

"Blue." Éomer stopped her babbling quite effectively with that deep baritone of his. "I think a striking, deep blue would bring out the color of your eyes."

Lothíriel stared. Her feet almost faltered. She could barely keep her jaw from dropping, but instead worked it like a fish out of water. She was sure her face was the color of the fires of Mordor and her hands had begun to sweat most unbecomingly.

_Blue? The color of my eyes? _Lothíriel averted her gaze as her heart pounded its way from her chest to her throat, beating so fiercely she almost felt lightheaded. _He has noticed the color of my eyes?_

"I think a blue gown would be positively ravishing on her." Éowyn remarked coyly as they began their walk through the village of Edoras.

Lothíriel resolved then and there to throttle Éowyn when they were alone. _We'll see how good of a shieldmaiden she is when she is face to arrow with my bow!_

Their journey continued, peppered with light conversation shared amongst themselves or with the townsfolk. They stopped here and there to exchange a greeting or a compliment, and Lothíriel found herself introduced to so many people she was sure she would never remember all of their names. Every one of the folk seemed intrigued by her presence and greeted her warmly, all smiles and jovial tones.

"We have heard many things about you, princess."

"You snuck into your brother's entourage, no?"

"You know your way about a bow, do you?"

"I will never forget how you cared for my dearest son at Helm's Deep."

Lothíriel found herself pleasantly overwhelmed, for none of the Rohirrim approached her with disdain or wrongdoing. They were open and joyous, accepting her and her strange Gondorian colloquialisms, fascinated by her black-as-night hair and beguiling grey eyes.

"Will you be at the celebration tomorrow princess?" One woman asked her, a basket on one hip and a child on the other, two other twining about her feet. Lothíriel had pulled Éomer and Éowyn to a halt so she could play with one of the woman's children who had pointed to Lothíriel's hair and giggled from afar. Lothíriel knelt before the child and pulled her braid over her shoulder, offering the locks to the small girl.

"I look forward to it." Lothíriel replied as the little girl buried her hands in Lothíriel's hair and tugged at it. Lothíriel laughed, tickling the child for her unruly behavior as her mother barked at her.

"Eloise! Enough!"

"I do not mind; she is endearing." Lothíriel wrapped her braid about the child's hands and pulled her into her arms to tickle her some more.

"I will be eager to see a Gondorian lady dance to our Rohirric tunes." The mother said with a laugh, shaking her head at her daughter.

"I fear I am a very awful dancer no matter the tune." Lothíriel stood after delicately extracting her hair and pulling the ribbon from the end to re-plait her locks.

"Your skill at archery does not lend to your dancing?" Éowyn remarked as they all bowed or curtsied to the mother and her children, Lothíriel offering the small girl a playful wave as they continued their journey throughout the village.

"I would wish for even a modicum of aptitude I possess at the bow to lend to my two left feet." Lothíriel replied with a hearty sigh. "I spend most celebrations watching others dance."

"Well that will not do here in Edoras." Éomer grunted, taking her hand to place over his arm once more. The gesture caused Lothíriel to swell with happiness, which blossomed to life on her lips in the form of a smile. "Especially not at a celebration to honor our fallen heroes."

"I meant no disrespect!" Lothíriel quickly amended. "But truly, I am a calamity on the dance floor. Why, on my fifteenth birthday I twirled into a towering candelabra and my gown caught fire! My brother Erchirion had to put me out with a pitcher of water from the sweets table."

Éomer roared with laughter while Éowyn tried to be lighter in showing her mirth, choosing to cover her mouth to hide her snort.

"I wish it were untrue; ask Amrothos. He loves to tell the tale of how I seared the hair from above my eyes and looked like a troll for two weeks."

Éowyn and Éomer both broke into a fit of laughter loud enough to startle a cage of hens nearby. Lothíriel took their humor in good stride, for looking back on the memory always brought her gales of laughter as well.

A few more steps and Éowyn suddenly pulled her brother to a stop in front of a comely looking shack boasting of a thatched roof and freshly washed pine for the frame. The door was propped open with a rock and inside Lothíriel could make out throngs of females chattering away happily over a multitude of gowns laid out on various tables. The entire floor of the home was bare except for its wares, the open windows gracing the patrons with a refreshing wind and streaks of sunlight.

"You will have to thank Ollä for saving you from further embarrassment," Éomer let go of her hand and Lothíriel felt her body leech of warmth at the loss of his touch. "I will wait here while you purchase a gown."

Éowyn took her hand and Lothíriel felt herself swept inside before she could respond. There was a lull in the conversation as all eyes turned to them on their entrance, but it quickly picked up pace once more; though Lothíriel noticed that more than one set of eyes lingered on her strange presence.

"What's this!" A woman the size of her father barreled out from the back of the wide shack, wearing a brown linen gown adorned with a white apron. "A princess, here at Ollä's!"

Beside her Éowyn grinned as Ollä stopped before them, towering over Lothíriel at an alarming height. She had the blonde hair of the Rohirrim and arms thicker than Amrothos with a chest that could compare to Éomer's. Her voice was deep but cheery, and the smile she offered was meant to be light even if it appeared a little intimidating.

"I am Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." Lothíriel offered her a pleasing smile and a polite curtsy.

"Ollä at your service, my lady." Ollä dipped her head slightly, turning her gaze to Éowyn. "It has been a while since I've seen you."

"We've had no occasion for a new gown as of late. However now I owe the princess one; she proved me very wrong in her archery this morning." Éowyn said as Ollä laughed.

"Oh aye, I've heard the gossips; you are the talk of the town!" Ollä said, winking an eye at Lothíriel. "Well have a look around; if you need any help just call."

The two noblewomen curtsied and Ollä trumped off, pausing to talk with a small group of girls. Lothíriel did not miss how they all turned to look at her and paused in their conversation, but Éowyn suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her to a row of beautifully laid out gowns.

"There must be a blue one here somewhere…"

Lothíriel trailed on behind her, running her hand along the fabrics. There was every color, every length, every size, every fabric, every thread, and every pattern she could think of! "These are beautiful!"

"Ollä makes all of them by hand." Éowyn said, picking at a gown the color of a robin's egg and turning to look at Lothíriel. She dismissed it and moved on. "She gets her fabrics from as far as the Northlands and Harad."

"The bodices are beautiful!" Lothíriel breathed, completely in awe at the woman's handiwork. "Are those pearls?"

"Most likely from your proud coast." Éowyn replied, pausing to touch the small beads. "Ollä travels all over Middle Earth to look for new or unique wares."

_The stitching is absolutely impeccable!_ "And she sews these all on her own?"

"I told you she was the best seamstress in Rohan!"

As Éowyn moved down the long table boasting the different fabrics and colors, Lothíriel lingered to admire Ollä's skill at stitching. _How proud father would be if I could sew as such! _She thought with a sad smile, her eyes skimming the design. _He would much rather I take up a needle than a bow._

"Is that Lord Éomer?"

Lothíriel paused at the excited whisper from behind her and glanced over her shoulder. There was a group of five girls about her age who had looked up from perusing the wares to gaze out the open doorway at Éomer who had stopped to talk to a pair of the guards meandering about the city.

"He is so tall!"

"Tall? He is _handsome_; the most handsome of all the guards, I think!"

Lothíriel bristled and moved along, though her ear was trained on their conversation and she could not bring herself to move too far. A very unsolicited wave of jealousy rolled through her and she tried to squelch the rampant sentiment, telling herself there was no reason to be such. Éomer did not belong to her!

"Aye, look at the way his arms flex under his tunic."

"His chest is so broad; how I wish I could see him shirtless like Mariel has boasted of! What I wouldn't give to serve in Meduseld…"

Lothíriel almost turned around. She clenched her jaw shut and scowled down at the dress she had meaninglessly picked up, cursing whoever Mariel was for being shown such a sight. A sight she had wished she could see herself many times before!

"Could you imagine lying next to him at night, having that big, strong body press against yours?" There was a forlorn sigh and Lothíriel's cheeks burned bright; indeed, she had wondered such, but to hear it voiced was another thing altogether!

"Do not speak like that! We are in public!"

There was a prolonged pause and Lothíriel felt the uncanny sensation of being watched. She hastily jolted into movement, pretending to inspect a gown further down the row. She stopped and picked up the fabric, no more looking at the gown than she was being chased by a nazgûl.

"I hope to catch a turn with him at the celebration." Another one of the girl's spoke and Lothíriel clenched the fabric tightly in her fists.

"Aye, and I hope for more than just a turn."

There was a tittering of gasps and giggles as the latter voice continued.

"You have heard of his prowess; he is no stranger to the woman of Edoras!"

Lothíriel discarded the gown roughly to the table and stalked over to Éowyn, her mind a tumult of angrily whirring thoughts.

_No stranger!_

_ Shirtless?_

_ More than just a turn? What could that possibly mean?_

_ Come now, _her conscience said flatly. _You do not have to be a slattern to ascertain _that_ meaning._

Lothíriel worked her jaw so furiously that her teeth ground, and Éowyn looked up in alarm when she all but ran into her from behind.

"What is the matter? You look positively livid."

Nares flaring, her heartbeat a strong staccato rhythm, Lothíriel palmed the nearest dress without meeting Éowyn's eyes. "It is nothing."

Éowyn did not push the subject but instead turned, holding a gown in her hands. "Well this will turn your mood; look what I've found!"

Lothíriel lifted her eyes and took in the silken fabric she knew to be from Harad which had been sewn into a gown of luxury and personified beauty. It was the color of the evening sky, a deep shining indigo, boasting of wide sleeves that nearly touched the floor and a slight train in the back. The neck- and waistline were stitched with bands of silver swirls, the forefront of the skirt patterned in the same stitching to match. The lining of the sleeves were of the deepest sable, and to the touch were devastatingly soft.

"It is beautiful." Lothíriel breathed, her ire forgotten.

Éowyn held it up to her frame and stepped back, her head tipped to one side. "I think it may fit; you may have to eat heartily at the meals to come to fill it out to perfection."

"Is this to be it then, my most loyal nursemaid?" Lothíriel teased.

"Aye, I do believe!"

Éowyn paid a pretty penny for the gown and Lothíriel begged her to take her own coin, but the Lady of Rohan would hear none of it. A bag of burlap was procured and the gown stowed away from prying eyes after a pair of leather slippers to match the dress were purchased. They thanked Ollä and left to meet up with Éomer once more.

He and Éowyn commenced their tour of the bustling city, pointing out different people and places, explaining significances or humorous things that had happened here or there. As always Lothíriel found herself laughing more than not, the brash comments spoken by the women at Ollä's about the Marshal forgotten.

They spent the afternoon walking the perimeter of the fortress, Éomer explaining the strong points and why it was laid the way it was, and Lothíriel committed every home with their thatched roofs, every dirt path, and every kind face to memory. _Who knows? Father may arrive tomorrow and I could be on my way home with the next sunrise. All of this will be taken from me._

"Where is it that you breed your horses? I know the Rohirrim are known for their clever and powerful steeds. It is said that they are smarter than the average horse." Lothíriel remarked as they climbed back up the long hill to Meduseld.

"Edoras is one of the few cities in Rohan; most of our people are spread out across the plains in small villages. It is there you will find our breeders. Our horses like to be wild and free, and there are certain folk who have a special hand at training them to be proudly called Rohirric." Éomer explained.

"Are the horses as wily as their masters then?" Lothíriel teased with a lighthearted smile. So far throughout the afternoon she had kept her wits about her, but her heart had yet to calm in the presence of Éomer.

"On the contrary; we Rohirrim are known for being proud and willful, but most of all true-hearted. We do not lie and therefore are not easily deceived."

"Generous in thought and deed are we, bold but not cruel." Éowyn cut in. She had dropped her brother's arm but Lothíriel still held on and Éomer had not commented against it; a fact Lothíriel was not lost on. _Does he enjoy my touch as much as I yearn for his?_

"Most would say we are unlearned because we do not write our histories, language, or culture in books, but I think we are a wise people. So what if we like to sing and dance instead of school our children into boredom?"

Lothíriel laughed. "I would not disagree; I find your people to be the most open and cheerful I have ever met. I am quite enjoying my stay in Rohan."

"Our horses are like us except they do not take easily to outsiders. Which is why I'm astonished as to how you've come to tame a Rohirric warhorse." Éomer said, raising an eyebrow down at Lothíriel with a smile.

She blushed prettily and dropped her face to the ground to hide it. "You truly believe him to be one of yours, then?"

"I would not be surprised to learn if he was from the same mare as my own Firefoot." Éomer said with a chuckle. "I just can't believe he has taken to you in so little time."

Lothíriel shook her head. "Nor can I! Our journey together was the first I had ever even seen him."

"He must've thought you very beautiful, then." Éowyn grinned over her brother at Lothíriel, causing the younger woman to roll her eyes.

"Aye, dressed and speaking like a man?" Lothíriel quipped.

"He is a smart beast; he knows a good heart when he sees one." Éomer said softly, and Lothíriel turned her dove-grey eyes to meet his warm, brown gaze. They held for but a moment before she broke the reverie, fearing she would lose her footing from the way his eyes made her knees weak.

"Tell me more of your horses."

Éowyn and Éomer took turns boasting of their steeds, telling of stories and mishaps from the time they were foals. By the time they reached the Golden Hall, more than half of the afternoon was well spent. The weather had warmed considerably and Lothíriel longed for a nearby stream to dip in, or at least place her feet in; it was one of the things she loved most about the summer months and living by the sea. She found water so refreshing, so tranquil, and oftentimes lingered by the ocean to quell her thoughts and explore her fantasies. How many times had she dreamed of riding into war to save the day? How many times had she sat and watched the sun dip below the waves creating some great romance in her head? Sometimes she could convince Celís to steal away to the beach to play in the waves; the older woman would always beg off and say that she would come just to watch, and yet they both would return to the castle soaked through and through.

"I think we've spent enough time talking of horses; let us saddle up for a ride. We could ride to an outlying village and see the foals newly born." Éomer suggested and Lothíriel's eyes lit up with pure delight.

"Truly? It would not be that far?"

"I daresay a half hour, at most." Éowyn agreed. "I fancy a ride as well."

Though she had spent more time in the saddle in these past few days than she ever had in her entire life, Lothíriel missed the carefree nature of a ride for pleasure rather than for the safety of her life. "I would love nothing more!" she said breathlessly, turning her eyes to Éomer's.

Éomer motioned for a nearby guard and bid him fetch a maid to collect Lothíriel's wares before taking his leave to alert the stables of their impending departure. Lothíriel and Éowyn were chattering excitedly waiting for a maid to return for her purchase when suddenly Lothíriel heard a voice that put a damper on her fine mood.

"Lothíriel! I've been looking for you!"

Lothíriel turned to see Amrothos descending the stairs of the Golden Hall with a maid in his wake, come to collect Lothíriel's gown.

"Please, take this to my room and see it lay out." Lothíriel bid her before turning to her brother. "I've been with Éowyn and Éomer, touring Edoras."

"Where has Éomer gone to?"

"We are going for a ride out in the Mark." Éowyn cut in. "He went to ready the horses."

Amrothos frowned. "You think that wise in times like these?"

"It is not far, and I believe we are all perfectly capable of handling ourselves." Lothíriel stated firmly. _Oh no; you will not keep me from this, brother!_

Amrothos looked skeptical at the very least. "I remember well what has happened in the past, Little Loth, and the past was not that long ago."

"Amrothos, come now; I will be with Éowyn and Éomer and I'm sure a number of guards. It is a short ride for pleasure, nothing more." Lothíriel was growing angry. _I do not want my time with Lord Éomer to end!_

"I will be going too, then. One more sword couldn't hurt." He nodded in resolution, laying a hand to his weapon on his hip.

Lothíriel's heart fell. The last thing she wanted was her brother tagging along to tease her unmercifully and make her feel a fool in front of Éomer.

"An excellent idea!" Éowyn quipped and Lothíriel cast her a harsh look. Éowyn shook her head almost imperceptibly and Lothíriel's look went from cruel to quizzical, though unfortunately Amrothos didn't fail to notice.

"What's this now?" He looked from one female to the next. "What are you two about?"

"Let's see to the horses; it is quite a feat to ready them in such a short amount of time." Without further word Éowyn took Lothíriel's arm and hurried away from Amrothos, leaving him to scowl and pick up step in their wake.

"What are you doing? I do not want my brother to come along!" Lothíriel hissed at her, but Éowyn pinched her into silence. "Ow!"

"I will keep your brother occupied so you may spend time with Éomer." Éowyn whispered back, glancing over her shoulder. "It would not bode well to have him remain here. Already there is suspicion in his eyes."

"That is not what I meant!" Lothíriel blushed deeply, giving herself away in a heartbeat. _Spend time with Éomer? I do not believe there is enough time in all the world to grow acquainted with the Marshal._

"Hush, or he will hear us." Éowyn urged as they happened upon the stables.

Firefoot was already saddled and waiting and Éomer was now struggling with Firebreather. Windfola was being saddled by an eager stablehand and Éowyn went to her own mare as Amrothos called for his steed to be brought out. Lothíriel hurried to Firebreather who took one look at her and jerked his reins from Éomer's grip to trot over to her. Lothíriel laughed and caught his big head in her hands, stroking his fine horseflesh with adoration in her eyes.

"You are a beast." she told him, stroking his neck.

"Aye; he barely let me lead him from the stall." Éomer came to stand behind her, his brown eyes narrowed on Firebreather. Firebreather snorted and nudged Lothíriel's shoulder, causing her to stumble and laugh good-naturedly.

"Are you all right to ride?" Éomer asked, motioning down at her foot. "We've been walking much today and you haven't changed your bandage."

"It hasn't bothered me at all, if I were to tell the truth. I'm sure riding will not cause me to suffer overmuch." Lothíriel patted Firebreather and held him still while a stable hand quickly attached his saddle. "I miss the wind in my hair, riding simply for pleasure without enemies lurking in the distance."

"You are an excellent rider." Éomer said, standing so very close to Lothíriel. His voice made her bones quiver and stole her breath, and she gazed up at him with unbridled tenderness, one she could not help. His words of praise fueled her, his smile was becoming her reason for being, and the sight of him positively drove her mad. His strong body and powerful persona consumed her thoughts in wake and in sleep and she found herself all the time wondering when she would see him again, or hear the deep baritone of his voice that lay calm to her soul.

"I didn't think you noticed." she said softly, her hands stilling against Firebreather. How she longed to lay them against Éomer's chest, to gaze up at him and have his big hands encircle her waist to hold her against him in wanton abandon.

"Aye, I've noticed." Éomer took a step closer to her and Lothíriel held her breath, her fingers itching to trace the open hem of his shirt.

"Lothíriel!" Amrothos rode up on Battlehorn, his eyes hard as he brought his mount to a halt beside her. Éomer immediately took a step back and Lothíriel glared up at her brother for his so very rude intrusion. "We are about to disembark. Are you ready?"

Lothíriel held in the furious spat of words she wanted to bite out and instead moved to Firebreather to mount. She put her foot in one of the stirrups and grabbed the horn, and suddenly felt a gentle pair of hands on her waist. She lifted herself up with ease at the help and threw her other leg over the side before she turned to meet Éomer's eyes.

"Thank you." she said breathlessly, a radiant smile eclipsing her features.

He bowed shortly and then walked off to Firefoot, leaving Amrothos to sidle up right next to Lothíriel; her brother did not even allow for a hairsbreadth between them. His brow was drawn at the stare that she could not shake from the Marshal, watching as he swiftly mounted his own steed. Éowyn rode up on Windfola to flank Lothíriel's other side as the other Rohirric guards mounted as well, bringing their company total to a slight ten riders.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Éowyn broke her trance and Lothíriel turned to find her friend's eyes dancing with mirth as they flickered to Amrothos and back. Lothíriel could see the scheme there and she smiled, offering a short bow of her head.

"More than ever." she replied as Éomer made the call to ride out, heading the lot of them.

"You are to ride like that?" Amrothos asked in shock, seeing how Lothíriel had each leg draped over either side of Firebreather to expose quite a good length of her calf.

"Really, Amrothos, the gowns I have been wearing have been too small to begin with. Who will even notice?" Lothíriel chided, though it was just another notch she would make in her brother's steel reserve. He thought to corral her? She would prove to him otherwise.

She kicked Firebreather into a strong canter as they took to the road leading down the hill of Edoras. Her braid bounced against her back as she rode, a grin slowly spreading onto her lips. She felt free on Firebreather and reveled in the wind tangling the stray locks of her hair and the sun teasing her eyes. _I could even forget about Amrothos in this moment. _Éowyn rode on her right and Amrothos finally caught up to ride on her left, and together they moved with the rest of the company until breaching the tall, double doors leading them from the city of Edoras.

"We ride east!" Éomer called, turning in his saddle to address them as they cantered along. "If we follow the Great West Road we will happen upon one of the villages of Rohan."

Lothíriel closed her eyes for but a moment and allowed Firebreather to take the lead, sighing wistfully at the beautiful weather that accompanied them. As the riders around her took up a cry she grinned and opened her eyes, and as a pack they fell into a strong, steady canter.

Éowyn kept Amrothos occupied when the riding was light, which gave Lothíriel ample time to stare at Éomer and daydream of a future she was likely to never share with him. She imagined what it would be like to share a saddle with him on a short day ride, laughing and conversing without the prying eyes of others. What it would be like to walk the bustling town of Edoras hand-in-hand with him, sharing conversation and learning his likes and dislikes. She dreamed of what it would be like to sit beside him before their own hearth, listening to him talk with his men about the day's events that would not be burdened by war. And deep in her mind she fantasized what it would be like to have him take her hand and lead her to bed, what it would feel like to undress for his eyes only and lie next to him in their bed. Lothíriel was glad he kept his distance from her, occupied by his fellows up front, riding tall and stern at the head of the company. Her wicked thoughts and raging heart would not make good company.

_He is a fine man indeed._

Lothíriel was eager to dismount and meet the people that inhabited the small rustic village they had come upon after a short half hour of riding. Éomer introduced her and Amrothos to the folk who had gathered outside at the thunderous warning of hooves and dust, and Lothíriel found that this town boasted of the same friendly people as in Edoras. She and her brother were welcomed with fanfare and excited smiles, though Amrothos stood back from the crowd and glowered, his arms crossed and his countenance standoffish.

_Good, I hope he is miserable. _Lothíriel thought childishly before delighting a small gaggle of curious children with a story of the sea. She could not help her gaze from straying to Éomer, ever hoping that he was near, and she was never disappointed; for every time she looked for him his eyes were steady on her, his face soft with a smile that spoke little for what he may be thinking.

After the villagers had been greeted and Lothíriel had conversed until her voice grew hoarse, Éomer took her to a small paddock boasting of a mare and a foal. Éowyn lingered behind the pair with Amrothos at her mercy, for she was suddenly longwinded and very excited for the celebration on the morrow. Lothíriel could barely suppress her hilarity at the conversation she heard excerpts from; Éowyn talked of what gown she may or may not wear, what trinkets she would don to match, what she thought Théoden would wear, what kind of music they would play, and so on and so forth. Lothíriel relished in the notion that if he were not regretting his decision to tag along now, hearing the menu for the celebration rattled off in extreme detail would surely drive Amrothos to madness and misery.

Lothíriel did not hear much else than that though; her attention became fixed on Éomer. He was very intelligent when it came to the explanation of the breeding process of the horses; how the studs were chosen, what mares would suit them best, and what happened after the foals were of age. The conversation was a diversion to her truer, more wicked thoughts and Lothíriel found herself lost to Éomer as she ever was, smiling and laughing, completely surrendered to his charms.

The villagers were sad to see them go but the hour was growing late with the sun making its descent across the sky; it would soon disappear beyond the White Mountains and supper would soon be served at Edoras. Lothíriel was seeing to Firebreather, blissfully unaware of her surroundings as she stroked his warm flesh.

_Does this day have to end? _She mused, a smile still turning her lips. She sighed then, a wistful sound, wishing that it did not have to be.

"Did you enjoy your day, my lady?" Éomer asked from her right, and Lothíriel turned startled eyes to meet his own.

She smiled, a coy gesture, and nodded. "Very much so. The townsfolk are absolutely endearing, and as always your knowledge intrigues me."

Éomer grinned broadly, stepping nearer and gesturing toward her mount. "May I?"

Her body jumped at his offer and she suddenly had to work very difficultly to swallow her heart from her throat. _To have your hands on me again I am suddenly thinking I would give anything._

But Amrothos appeared then and took Lothíriel about the waist before Éomer could, his stern look not failing to fall from Éomer's notice. The Marshal stepped back and moved to Firefoot and Lothíriel could not curb her own look of scalding that she sent her brother.

_He is always in the way!_ She thought hotly as she settled into the saddle, draping her gown over her legs. _Why is he being so defensive of me? He is not like this at home!_

She took Firebreather's reins and dared a look at Éomer and was stilled to find that he gazed at her with unabashed longing. His brow was hard but his brown eyes sparked with something unmentionable, causing Lothíriel to part her lips on a silent, breathless gasp. Her hands fumbled with the reins and she had to quickly grasp at them, turning her attention to her clumsy fingers lest Firebreather become too unruly.

"Move out!" Éomer called, breaking his eyes from her form and leading the lot back from whence they came.

Amrothos moved in tightly to Lothíriel's left. Completely and utterly spent of her brother's cloistering ways, Lothíriel dug her heels into Firebreather's side and urged him into a swift gallop that no other horse save Shadowfax could match. Firebreather shrieked and lunged forward, taking to the front of the pack in only three long strides. Lothíriel laughed as she laid low on his neck, her braid whipping out behind her as she left her brother shouting in her wake.

"Faster, Firebreather!" she told him, giving him extra slack on the reins as he took to the open road. She could hear the thunder of hooves behind her and she laughed again, though she did not dare to look over her shoulder.

_That will teach him!_

* * *

When they arrived back at Edoras Lothíriel swung down from Firebreather without any help, pleased to see that Amrothos and his mount were the last to arrive at the stables. Breathless and windburnt, Lothíriel laughed as Éowyn dismounted next to her, a wide grin on her face.

"Well played my lady!" Her friend called happily as she passed the reins of Windfola to a stablehand.

"I needed the respite from Amrothos's incessantly boorish behavior." Lothíriel huffed, tossing her ruined braid over her shoulder. "However short-lived it may be."

Amrothos was there then, his look black and his grip strong as he took her elbow. "You forget you are my charge." He bit out at her, causing Lothíriel to roll her eyes at her brother.

"And you forget you are my brother and not my nursemaid." She ripped her arm from his grip and took Éowyn's, beginning to walk to the Hall.

"Then stop acting like a child in need of one!"

Lothíriel dismissed Amrothos with a negligent wave, allowing for her and Éowyn to take the way back to Meduseld in peace. She snickered in her triumph, her heart light and her eyes sparkling with mirth.

_Although if Lord Éomer were to be my nursemaid I daresay I should mind much at all._

* * *

Éomer only stopped watching after Lothíriel when he could no longer see her, having been lost to the Hall. His heart only then ceased to beat like the hooves of Firefoot in full gallop, though he still found it difficult to move from the spot from where he had been watching her.

_How she captures me, I will never know_. He thought, finally turning to lead Firefoot to his stable box. _I know I should not be so open in my desires, but with her I cannot help it. And after a mere five days of knowing her! She must have bewitched me in some way._

He led Firefoot to his stall and unsaddled the mount, picking up the brush to comb his horseflesh. Éomer was lost in thoughts of grey eyes and ebony hair, laughter bred of innocence and a smile worth a thousand words. How he wished he could steal those smiles solely for himself; the memories of her rose-pink lips did not do justice to the real thing. And even though her skin was whipped from the wind and tinged from the sun it was still radiant, clear and shining like starlight. What he would not give to freely touch it, whenever he pleased, to run his fingers through the silken strands of her hair…

_I should stay away, but I cannot_. He pondered, his thoughts lost with his motions. _I find myself thinking of when I will see her again, hear her voice again. This is maddening! Has she claimed my affections like Éothain has accused?_

He could not deny it, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Éomer." He looked up suddenly and straightened, pausing in brushing Firefoot to meet the hard stare of Amrothos.

"Amrothos." He greeted, though judging by the stony look the youngest son of Imrahil was giving him this was not to be a pleasant exchange of words.

"You know my sister is one of the heirs to the Dol Amroth throne." Amrothos said without preamble. His eyes, usually laughing and carefree, were cold.

Éomer's nostrils flared and he tipped his chin up, refusing to let Amrothos cow him. "I am well aware." he replied.

"You know my father has many suitors for her worth her station." The austerity in his tone was not lost on Éomer.

Éomer could barely hide the deepening of his scowl. _She has not mentioned any suitors. _"I am sure the Lady Lothíriel is aware of this as well." Éomer replied just as bitterly. The barb stung, but Éomer was not immune to the truth of it; he was very much conscious of the fact that Lothíriel was a princess and he a mere lieutenant.

"She will be betrothed on her next birthday." Amrothos said. "You will do well to remember that."

He moved away then and Éomer found himself more annoyed than completely deterred. If anything, knowing that Lothíriel had many suitors calling for her suddenly made him more committed than ever to compete for her hand. He knew from experience that Amrothos spoke out of well-being for his sister; how many times had Éomer frightened off men who had lingered over his sister? Amrothos only meant to protect Lothíriel's virtue as a lady, but Éomer thought it nothing more than a small obstacle to overcome.

_Something tells me the princess would not readily accept a man not up to her own standards no matter what her brothers and father desire of her_. _And if she were to find a man she highly revered, her strong will would not be deterred by them either. _Éomer thought, taking up the brushing of Firefoot with renewed vigor.

_And if I am not mistaken, _Éomer thought with a brazen grin. _The princess thinks very highly of me._

* * *

Okay so this one was super long, I know. And not a lot happened, I doubly know. But! I know you enjoyed it anyway, because I know I did! =] Haha have a great weekend everyone! See ya next week (it'll be my birthday)!


	15. Chapter 15: Frivolity and Festivities

**Chapter Fifteen: Frivolity and Festivities**

"I cannot decide."

Lothíriel glanced up from her perch on a stool, trying to hold still while the maid braiding her hair worked her magic. Her coronet tonight would be slightly more intricate, with two braided rows instead of one, and within the delicate weaves would be small, white flowers that Éowyn and she had picked earlier in the afternoon.

Éowyn held up two dresses; one a deep, night-sky blue and the other a lush, flowing ivory. Both were beautiful gowns and would do wonders against Éowyn's fair complexion and golden hair, and Lothíriel had to think a moment as Éowyn swapped out one for the other and then back again.

"The white, I think. You will look positively ethereal." Lothíriel finally said. The gown had a gold chain about the waist that dropped down one side to end at a large pearl, and boasted of a rounded neckline also weaved of gold. The sleeves dropped open at the elbows and just barely brushed the floor, though with all the dancing Éowyn planned on doing Lothíriel was sure the white fabric would never once touch the planks.

"You think?" Éowyn said, holding aforementioned gown up to her body and turning to look in the tall, slim looking glass she had propped in the corner.

"I think you will look like the goddess you like to think you are." Lothíriel teased and Éowyn turned to briefly stick her tongue out at the princess before turning to the mirror once more.

"All finished my lady." The maid announced, and Lothíriel beamed with barely contained excitement as she rose from the stool carefully as to not upset her hair, dressed in naught but her shift.

"It looks wonderful!" Éowyn gasped, discarding the gown to bring Lothíriel over to the looking glass. "Though I do so wish you would leave it down. You have the loveliest hair, so straight and thick!"

"Tis unseemly for a lady of Gondor to wear her hair down except for the gaze of her husband." Lothíriel remarked as she touched her hair in this place or that. It was perfectly weaved with just the right amount of small, white blossoms and the maid Althea had pulled a couple of strands free to curl becomingly against her neck and over her forehead. "Though at Dol Amroth I am always running wild and it often comes out of whatever it was put into."

"Isn't there a song about it?"

Lothíriel laughed and nodded, replying, "It shall stay up; I do not want to ruin the wonders Althea has created." Lothíriel turned to the maid and smiled widely. "You must have a touch of magic in your fingers to create such a splendid sight."

The young maid grinned from ear to ear and dropped into a proud curtsey. "You will be the talk of the celebration, my lady. I daresay all the young men will vie for your hand to dance."

"And they will be sorely disappointed when I tromp all over their toes." Lothíriel replied.

"I think there will be one who will not notice his disappointment; he will be too enraptured by you." Éowyn tantalized poor Lothíriel, who cut her a quick look of silence. She did not need the maids gossiping!

The two in the room indeed shared a look of excitement and Althea tittered, "Oh who, my lady? You must tell!"

"Althea fetch my jewelry box; I want Lothíriel to look for something to match her gown." Éowyn quickly averted, causing a look of dismay to flitter over her features.

"Would you like to don your gown, my lady?" The other maid approached Éowyn who nodded, taking up the ivory ensemble once more. "Aye, I think I am ready."

"When we are already almost late to sup." Lothíriel chided playfully as Althea brought the jewelry box to her and opened the lid. Lothíriel was suddenly in awe of the many pieces that winked out at her, from hair bobbies, to long gaping necklaces, to belts studded with gemstones, and rings sparkling of the finest gold or silver.

"You are less dressed than I!" Éowyn said defensively as she stepped into her gown and the maid brought it up about her shoulders to lace from the back.

"What if it does not fit? Then what will I wear?" Lothíriel picked up a small silver ring and tried it on, liking how the simple leaf pattern spread from one knuckle to the next and glimmered in the candlelight of Éowyn's room.

"We will have to procure a sack for you. Would you prefer grain or potato?"

Lothíriel scowled at Éowyn who merely laughed, placing her hands on her waist as the maid tightened the laces to her gown from behind. Éowyn winced and Lothíriel quipped, "That's what you get!" She closed the lid to the box and slipped the ring on her second finger of her right hand, and Althea put the box down to pick up her gown.

"I don't think I've ever seen such a color." Althea spun the gown on her own frame and giggled as Lothíriel watched with a smile on her face. The maid collected herself enough to face the princess and open the gown so she could step into it, and Lothíriel did so with bated breath. The sleeves went up and over, the sable tickling her fingers and hands, to settle gently on her shoulders. Thankfully it did touch the floor to cover Lothíriel's slippered feet and as Althea began lacing up the back she closed her eyes and hoped against hope that this gown fit decently enough to not make her mother roll in her grave.

Althea finished and although the gown was just a smidge too big, it fit Lothíriel better than the others she had been wearing. The train swirled about her feet as she turned to face Éowyn who was getting an ornate golden circlet fitted to her head. The neckline was not so low to reveal any of her bosom or even a hint really, which Lothíriel preferred; if Éowyn was to force her onto the floor to dance like she kept repeating then she didn't want to worry about losing her assets.

"Oh Lothíriel," Éowyn breathed, her eyes shining. "You look ravishing."

"You think?" Lothíriel grabbed her skirts and swished back and forth, loving the feel of the satin against her skin.

"Aye, now let us be off so Théoden does not think less of us!"

"Éowyn, I daresay you look more beautiful than I." Éowyn paused and smiled prettily, clasping her hands before her. Her yellow hair streamed in becoming waves over her shoulders and back, some strands woven into braids with small, white flowers in their kinks. The circlet was melded of a flower pattern but was simple enough that it did not clash with her gown. She wore a ring of fine gold on each middle finger and a smile befit a goddess.

Lothíriel strode forward and linked her arm with Éowyn's before Althea opened the door for the ladies and they walked over the threshold together. The maids lingered as they passed, wishing them luck and many happy memories.

"I think Éomer will be quite taken with you." Éowyn whispered as they walked the length of the hall. "I'm sorry about earlier; I just couldn't help it. You look splendid and I know my brother will be even more infatuated with you than he already is."

"I do not have the faintest idea of what you speak." Lothíriel responded, though she did bring her fingers up to pinch some color into her cheeks.

"Lothíriel," Éowyn adopted a look of one not easily fooled. "I know my brother and I daresay I have come to know you quite well. It is obvious, the way you two look at one another."

"Obvious?" Lothíriel grew suddenly pale.

"Only to me, I'm sure!" Éowyn quickly amended. "The way he looks at you, his raging moods, the way he smiles when in your presence! He has never acted this way before with any woman; it is humorous to watch, really, the way he fumbles about when you are near."

"Fumbles?" Lothíriel hadn't noticed him fumble! In fact, he always was the cool and collected marshal, rendering her speechless with his smiles. _Those kind, brown eyes…_

"I've seen him miss steps, even trip over his own feet watching you." Éowyn chuckled as they grew closer to the dining hall, which would later be cleared for dancing.

"I do not believe you." Lothíriel refused, though her heart quickened.

"You cannot fool me princess and I will not be easily ignored like your brother."

Lothíriel knew there would be no denying Éowyn any longer; she was more stubborn than she! So she relented, hushing her voice to a whisper. "Please, do not say anything. I do not want him to know!"

Éowyn beamed with all the radiance of the sun. "I knew it! But whyever not?"

"It is only a silly dream, nothing more! He does not feel the same about me of that I am sure." Lothíriel said hastily, though the admission made her heart wilt.

"We shall see." Éowyn said, retaining her smile as the two descended into the hall just as the men were ascending the dais where the high table was prepared for supper. Lothíriel's excitement throughout the day had been mounting and she looked forward to an evening of frivolity and festivities.

"Éowyn," Théoden was the first to approach, his smile broad as he took his niece lightly in his arms and kissed her fondly on the cheek. "You never cease to amaze me with your beauty. And Princess Lothíriel you are a vision indeed, outshining the beauty of even the most renowned of elvish queens."

The compliment caused Lothíriel to blush and she graced Théoden with a grateful curtsy. "Surely you jest, my lord."

"On the contrary my lady," Aragorn appeared then and offered her a bow. "And I have met many an elvish queen."

Lothíriel laughed lightly and took the arm he offered to guide her to her chair while Éowyn took her uncle's. Once deposited, Lothíriel could not help but scour the bustling hall for Éomer and was saddened to find he was not there.

"Sister," Amrothos greeted, taking a seat beside her as was his routine. She gave him a stiff salutation of a simple nod and nothing more; she was still bothered by his behavior yesterday on the ride.

"Come now, you still cannot be cross with me." Amrothos lowered his voice, but Lothíriel ignored him and instead watched as guards and townsfolk began to fill hall, taking their seats upon the benches that had been set up with tables.

"Lothíriel—"

"My lady."

A flower appeared before her then, a Lissuin if she was not mistaken. Its bright white bloom possessing petals in the shape of hearts winked luminously up at her and the blossom itself radiated a fragrance that could not be mistaken for any other for it immediately brought her heart comfort and joy. She followed the hand which held it to a leanly muscled arm, and as her heart began to gallop and her breath lodged in her throat she met the glittering eyes of Éomer.

"Though I see now that you do not need anything to accent your beauty, I thought of you when I saw this."

Lothíriel reached to take the flower though her eyes never broke from Éomer's, and their fingers brushed along the stem. "Thank you my lord; that was very kind of you."

Éomer bowed ever so slightly before addressing his sister. "Sister mine, you look befit for a castle in the sky."

"Really Éomer, that was a bit thick don't you think?"

Éomer's grin was cheeky as his eyes moved to Amrothos, and Lothíriel watched as the men exchanged a hard look full of silent words. Éomer, however, did not lose his grin before he took himself to his own seat beside her brother. He was dressed in a fine crimson tunic and black trousers, his golden hair lying in waves down his back but braided in two thin streaks at his temples. The plaits met at the back of his head and were tied with a simple leather queue. He was cleanly shaven and trimmed, his manner calm but merry as he sat in the high-backed chair next to Amrothos.

_I cannot remember seeing a man so handsome._

Lothíriel's heart was now positively pounding. She brought her gaze to stare down at the becoming blossom and she could not help but smile as the honey-scent from the center wafted up to encapsulate her senses. She closed her eyes and sighed wistfully before tucking the flower into her lap, draping her hands over it protectively.

_I shall keep it always_, she thought, opening her eyes as the scraping of a chair brought her wits back about her…that is, until her eyes wandered to Éomer and his countenance stole off with them once again.

"Hail the victorious dead!"

A resounding chorus of, "Hail!" was called back to a now standing Théoden who had raised his goblet, evoking those in the hall to do the same. Meduseld was packed wall to wall with Rohirrim; not a spot was left unspoken for amongst the long dining hall. Lothíriel quickly averted her attention from the lieutenant to the king, biting her lip to keep her devious smile at bay.

"Tonight we honor those who fell for the kingdom of Rohan, sacrificing their lives and happiness so that we may sit here this evening! Without their courage and ardor Rohan would've fallen into darkness!"

"Hail!"

"And again, we celebrate the living and their fine acts of gallantry! Without their strong hearts and mighty swords many more would've been lost!"

"Hail!"

"Now eat, and be merry, and let us celebrate a fine victory!"

"_Hail!_"

The seven course meal to follow found Lothíriel more stuffed than she could ever admit to being in her entire life. Some of the fare was a little unfamiliar to her but she found everything to her liking, and she complimented Théoden for having a sure staff to guarantee such an excellent meal in a short amount of time.

Lothíriel enjoyed watching the Rohirrim celebrate the dead and the living; they were such a happy people and there was no shortage of merriment to be had. Someone played a fiddle in the back of the hall but it was almost lost in the noise of conversation and revelry, and Lothíriel could not help but think how different this place was from Gondor and its traditions. At home in Dol Amroth the meal would've been served by stately servants and not buxom maids with beaming smiles, already boasting of a little ale being sampled. The conversation would've been light and accompanied by the tinkling of silverware, not bawdy laughter and contests of arm strength. The fiddle in the back would've been a harp and Lothíriel's ears would've bled from the tedium of it all. She much more preferred the Rohirrim; they were so exciting!

The night was cool but pleasant, and a summer breeze wafted in from the open windows on the walls and doors at the end of the hall. Torchlight danced from the braziers and candles winked from candelabras. The smell of ale and venison was dense, but Lothíriel did not mind it overmuch; if anything it endeared these people to her even more. There were a few wide barrels of ale against the wall to her right where people readily helped themselves to the brew, and although Lothíriel wished for the wine she usually had with her meals she sipped good-naturedly on her brew.

Almost two hours later and after the sweet meal was served and the dishes were cleared, guards and townsfolk alike began dispersing the tables. Lothíriel's eyes were drawn toward the back of the room where the fiddler was joined by another, and even a piper and a drummer! Excitement began to thrum through her; she loved music! Gondorian ballads were so _boring_ compared to the music she knew came from Rohan. Though she was a terrible dancer she could at least tap her foot to a beat and enjoyed watching others move through the intricate steps.

Éowyn pushed her chair back from the table and rose, her smile wide as she grabbed Lothíriel's hand. Lothíriel instantly retracted and vigorously shook her head.

"No Éowyn; I told you I cannot dance!"

People began to fill the floor, arranging themselves into couples. Lothíriel continued to shake her head up at Éowyn who would not let go of her hand and was pulling her up despite her heels dug into the floor.

"You will only have to dance with me!" Éowyn laughed as Lothíriel paled. "Come now, I won't make fun of you too much!"

"Éowyn, I am not jesting when I tell you I am a horrible dancer. Please, do not make me embarrass myself in front of all these people!"

The musicians began to tune their instruments and Éowyn gave a mighty tug, pulling Lothíriel to her feet. Lothíriel quickly placed her flower on the table and dismally followed Éowyn to the dance floor, her movements slow with resistance.

"Éowyn please!"

"Hush!"

"I beg of you!"

"Oh this should be riotous." Lothíriel heard Amrothos say to Éomer as they passed, and she kicked his chair and shot him a most villainous glare.

"Éowyn," Lothíriel was promptly ignored as they descended the dais and found a spot within the crowd. "Oh you wench! I shall not feel the least bit sorry for you tomorrow when you are missing a toe or two!"

Éowyn was brimming with anticipation and merriment as she placed Lothíriel before her and took her left hand, clasping it with her own and raising them both to reside in the space between their heads. She then reached forth and placed Lothíriel's opposite hand lightly on her own waist before doing the same with her own to her. She grinned when she said, "It will be very much worth it."

A lone fiddle began a quick verse, causing the people around her to stomp in time. Dread consumed Lothíriel as Éowyn began to do the same and urged her to do so with a vigorous nod of her head. When Lothíriel refused to move and limply hung onto Éowyn in semblance of the way she was being held onto, Éowyn threw back her head and laughed.

"At least make the best of it!"

There were more than one pair of eyes on the women, everyone eager to see the refined Princess of Dol Amroth move about the floor. Lothíriel was absolutely mortified, but her conscious suddenly spoke loud and clear:

_Make every moment count._

The fiddler was joined by the other and suddenly everyone began to move. Lothíriel held on for dear life as Éowyn dipped their hands and they spun through the crowd, laughing all the while, golden hair a whirl of color. Lothíriel's squeal was lost in the music as the other musicians joined the riotous fray, the tempo picking up and atmosphere bubbling over with utter delight. She clasped Éowyn's hand hard as her friend guided her through the crowd, the other couples moving with them in a pattern that Lothíriel couldn't follow. The pace was fast and she tried desperately to keep up with Éowyn, but not knowing the steps was difficult enough!

However in no time at all Lothíriel found herself breathless with laughter and completely forgetting the fact that she could not dance even if her life depended on it.

* * *

_He entered Meduseld for the celebratory meal through the main doors, returning from the barracks with Gamling. He had sought out his friend to apologize profusely for his behavior the previous day and Gamling had wasted no time in liberally tormenting him for his barbaric behavior in vying for the princess's attention. Éomer allowed the ribbing all the way over to the Golden Hall knowing he well deserved it. However upon seeing Lothíriel he faltered at foot, his eyes and body positively riveted, his mind possessed by her beauty._

_ She had just entered the hall herself at the company of his sister and Éomer would never forget the way she made him feel in this very moment. His heart ruptured, sending sparks of desire through his veins, and his mind simply ceased to work. His breath had been stolen, so very stolen by her perfection, and he was sure his palms began to sweat in the same instant she smiled. She had chosen the perfect color to bring out the grey of her eyes and the dress looked positively radiant on her slender frame. Her hair was interspersed with tiny white flowers and her cheeks were rosy, the perfect contrast to her complexion._

_ Théoden approached the two soon after their arrival and Lothíriel looked every bit the regal princess as she exchanged greetings with his uncle. His body itched to be there, to take her hand and guide her to her seat. Jealousy burned hot and untamed when Aragorn stole the pleasure from him, though Éomer wasn't quite sure he could move yet; her presence had him rooted to the spot though the world around him churned._

_ "What's this now?" Gamling followed Éomer's gaze to the dais and grinned crookedly. "Ah, the princess." He elbowed Éomer roughly in the ribs and if Éomer had not been already rendered breathless by the sight of Lothíriel he would've lost his breath then._

_ "That bad then?" Gamling grilled with a smirk on his face, one that Éomer did not even notice because his eyes were still fixed on Lothíriel._

_ "Yes." he said absentmindedly before stirring his limbs to move. He had to be near her, to believe that the vision he was seeing was real. He briefly patted his tunic to make sure the flower he had picked for her was still there before making his way through the bodies and benches, his eyes fastened on her frame._

_ "Oy!" Gamling called after him. "Shall we start looking for a new Marshal of the East Emnet now? I fear ours is lost!"_

* * *

Éomer watched from his seat at the high table as Lothíriel spun around the dance floor with his sister, the beat wild and frantic now. She stumbled more often then not but kept her footing, laughing gaily as Éowyn led the spinning and stomping rhythm of the popular Rohirric tune. Éomer could not contain his own smile at the pair; he had not seen his sister this happy in a very long time and the utter joy that captured Lothíriel's features was positively stunning.

Éomer poised one hand on his chin and used the other to drill his fingers on the table. His foot was tapping in rhythm with the tune of the dance that he waited impatiently to end; he planned to be up before so. He had intended long before this night came to fruition that he was to be the only dance partner she had. No other man would lay his hands about her waist or take comfort in the softness of her skin. No other man would share the smile that shone radiantly from her face or take pleasure from the music of her laughter. He planned to greedily steal every moment he could from her and revel in it; and yes, revel in the fact that it would absolutely infuriate Amrothos.

The Dol Amroth Captain of the Guard was also watching his sister, but half immersed in conversation with Théoden as well. Aragon, Gimli, Merry, and Legolas had taken to the dance floor but merely watched the whirling bodies while sipping their ale rather than joining. Éomer was alone in his musings and was suddenly embarrassed, hoping no one could read the wicked thoughts coursing through his mind by the look on his face.

Éomer turned his eyes back to Éowyn and Lothíriel, smiling as the two bobbed about the floor. The princess could barely keep up with the running tempo but she tried and that endeared her even more to him. She could be the stuffy princess sitting at the high table raising her nose to his people. But she had taken everything that had come her way in stride, approached every situation with bravery and finesse. Though these were not her people one would never know it; her valor at Helm's Deep was still being talked about and when she had walked through Edoras with him yesterday she had greeted everyone with a kind smile and an open heart. That was the bearing of a true princess and someone Éomer respected greatly. She was no young child in his eyes; she was a bold, independent woman who would do anything for those that needed it, with a silly sense of humor and a sharp tongue to match. The Rohirrim loved her; not one person he had encountered said an ill word against her. Indeed, those around the pair laughed with them, not making fun, but keeping far enough away because the princess was indeed a wild thing.

_I wonder if her foot pains her_, Éomer thought, preparing to stand. The song was almost over and he was going to be her next partner no matter what, and he made note to ask her if she was feeling all right. Amrothos paused to watch him go but did not move to stop him, too occupied in the conversation with Théoden; however Éomer was more than aware that Amrothos watched him with one eye.

_Let him rot doing so, _Éomer thought, the ideation uncharacteristically cruel for him. He cared little of what Amrothos thought of his actions, deemed it too unimportant when his days could be unknowingly numbered.

Éomer quickly descended the dais as the song ended and the bodies ceased to move, the crowd bursting into an excited bout of applause. His sister and Lothíriel were some ways away and he had to crane his neck to see over the crowd, becoming irritated when he lost sight of them. The next song was already starting and Éomer began to wade through the bodies more furiously, a scowl now marring his features. _Where did they get off to?_

And suddenly he saw them. Éowyn had taken up the arm of Aragorn for the next lively tune and Lothíriel was being bowed to by…

_The dwarf! _Éomer thought hotly, stilling his movements. He watched in fury as she curtsied back and bent to accommodate the dwarf, fire licking his senses when she shared a smile with Gimli, laughing at the way they were so completely and utterly mismatched.

"My lord? Would you accompany me in this dance?"

Éomer glanced at the feminine voice to his right before his eyes brought him back to Lothíriel. The dance was starting and he stood in the middle of the floor partnerless, looking silly and feeling angry for no apparent reason. The maid that had asked for his attention waited patiently albeit visibly nervous for his response, and Éomer had to grind his teeth together viciously to stop himself from rejecting her and sending her disheartened from the floor. He gave her a quick nod and hastily swept her up to join the jubilant fray; however his eyes not once met her own. No, his eyes were only for Lothíriel.

_The next dance is mine. So help the man that tries to get in my way._

* * *

Lothíriel was absolutely breathless with happiness by the end of her second dance! Gimli was a lot more nimble on his feet than he looked, but they made a rather awful pairing. She was almost twice his height and was the worst dancer in the history of Middle Earth, but Gimli reassured her time and time again what a pleasure it was to be graced by her. They spent the dance laughing and tripping over one another, running into other couples (who took the beating in stride, hysterical at their antics), and trying not to end up in a sweating heap upon the wooden floor.

"Oh Master Gimli!" Lothíriel gasped as they twirled to a stop, the song finally over. Lothíriel laughed as a giant cheer rent the air for the frantic workings of the musicians, her voice among them before curtsying to her partner.

"I will be forever in debt to you for putting up with my clumsy feet!" she told him as she rose and he offered her a bow in return.

"Aye; I will have sore toes tomorrow. But it was well worth it." The dwarf said gruffly and Lothíriel took his teasing with a light heart, fanning her face with her hand.

"I do think I'll sit out—"

"My lady," A finger tapped her shoulder and Lothíriel turned to find Gamling standing behind her, bowing quite dramatically with one hand perched upon his lower back and his other twirling in a flourish. "May I have the next dance?"

Lothíriel had to admit she was quite enjoying herself, but she still felt the need to warn the guard of his poor choice of partner. "Master Gamling, I'm afraid I cannot dance worth a single hen's egg."

The grin that stole his features was shamelessly errant, and Lothíriel got the faintest idea that he asked not for the pleasure of her tromping feet but for another reason entirely. "I think I will be all right. I have suffered much worse in the tides of battle."

Lothíriel gave a short nod of her head, laughter bubbling out of her throat. "It is your demise!"

As Gamling took her about the waist and the next song started up, Lothíriel got a short glimpse of Éomer from across the room. He was staring not at her but at Gamling, his face red and his jaw working furiously to grind his teeth. He had in his limp arms a lady she did not recognize but did not get a good look at because soon enough she was being whisked about the floor, her feet forgetting themselves once more.

After Gamling it was Théoden who offered for her hand, and then Éothain, Aragorn, and even Legolas for a slow turn about the floor. She knew none of the songs she twirled to but was admittedly having the time of her life, and the people she danced with and around did not seem to mind her absolute lack of composure.

The musicians were taking a break and riotous waves of conversation claimed the air, combined with hearty shouts and gales of laughter. Lothíriel was well and truly parched after her second round with Gimli and took to the ale barrels to obtain a tankard. There she met the hobbit Merry who was tapping to his own beat and sipping at his tankard.

"Are these tunes much like your songs of the Shire?" Lothíriel asked conversationally. "I will admit that I know little about halflings."

"They are comparable, yes." Merry answered. "Would you like me to teach you a song and dance? It comes from my favorite inn, The Green Dragon."

"I must warn you, I am very much a horrible dancer."

"Oh, you cannot mess this one up!" Merry took her tankard and his own, setting them aside. The people around them backed up as Merry placed Lothíriel a few steps from him before turning to face her, standing tall and straight. Lothíriel smiled wide as she straightened as well and then the pair exchanged a regal bow and curtsy. More people began to look on as Merry moved forward to link her arm with his though facing the opposite direction, and placed one foot out directly in front of him against the planks.

"Start tapping in this rhythm." He instructed, making a beat that went in time with her heart. Lothíriel picked up her skirts with one hand and began tapping her foot like Merry, holding onto the hobbit tightly with the other.

"'Oh you can search far and wide, you can drink the whole town dry, but you'll never find a beer so brown…'" Merry began to bounce from one foot to another and Lothíriel let out a shriek of laughter as she tried desperately to keep up with the hobbit. Those around them laughed at the sight and took up the beat with their own feet.

"'Oh you'll never find a beer so brown!'" Merry hooted, spinning to take his opposite arm with hers and whirl them in a circle. Lothíriel closed her eyes and laughed, spinning and stamping her feet as Merry continued to sing.

"'As the one we drink in our hometown!'"

He spun to make Lothíriel face him and she tipped dangerously on her feet before Merry grabbed her hands to right her and stomped his left foot.

"Come on! Your turn now!"

Lothíriel matched his beat and shouted gaily, "'As the one we drink in our hometown!'"

Merry took her arm again and then spun once more, galloping to the beat as he finished the song, kicking his legs out in short arcs. Lothíriel lifted her skirts to do the same, never once thinking about how silly she must look or who might be watching.

"'You can keep your fancy ales, you can drink them by the flagon; but the only brew for the brave and trueeeeeee comes from The Green Dragon!'"

He grabbed up their tankards and passed her own to her. She barely had enough time to wrap her fingers around the handle before he smashed his tankard into the side of hers and then upended his. Lothíriel closed her eyes and tipped her own against her lips as roars of ovation drowned her thoughts. She could not finish the brew but instead began to cough, causing those around her to laugh at her behavior. She choked on her own mirth and someone thankfully came to her rescue, patting her roughly on the back to loosen up her drink.

"You will have to visit The Green Dragon someday my lady!" Merry said happily as Amrothos stepped up beside her, offering her his handkerchief to wipe her mouth with.

"I would be delighted to!" Lothíriel said before she caught sight of the look on Amrothos's face.

"How do you fare, sister? Your foot does not bother you much, does it?" Amrothos asked, glancing accusingly down at her skirts still gathered in her hands.

"I'm fine." She sniffed, turning her nose up at Amrothos and dropping her skirts.

"The warg bite, you mean?" Merry asked in genuine concern.

"Surely you've heard about her feat to get to Rohan." Amrothos said, a harsh look thrown her way. Lothíriel rolled her eyes and discarded her tankard on a nearby table, turning to move away.

"Loth, I would ask you to dance with me; I haven't seen you all night." Amrothos caught her arm and stopped her.

"And there's well a reason for it!" Lothíriel responded hotly.

"Little Loth…"

"No!" Lothíriel snapped, her gaze angry. "You've been a constant thorn in my side and I weary of you!"

Merry's eyes widened at her outburst and he turned his back to give them privacy though Lothíriel was well beyond caring.

Amrothos's lips thinned into a line as his nostrils flared. "You've been belligerent and argumentative at every turn—"

"I will have none of this, Amrothos; not tonight. I am having the time of my life and will not see it spoilt." At the stricken look Amrothos adopted Lothíriel felt a little guilty and amended lightly, "Now do you want to dance with me or not?"

The musicians had begun to warm up to play another merry tune and Lothíriel watched as her brother worked his jaw from one side to another. Finally, he inclined his head and extended his hand.

"My lady sister, it would be an honor to be tramped on by your feet."

Lothíriel smiled in victory, taking Amrothos's arm and letting him guide her to the dance floor. She silently vowed to step on his toes more than usual, for he deserved it for almost ruining her night.

The dance they took up was another lively tune and both Gondorian nobles did not know the steps but fumbled through them nonetheless. Lothíriel and Amrothos were soon laughing once more, their minor spat forgotten as they bumped into couples and columns alike. Once the song was over Lothíriel was breathless and wanted desperately for a helping of fresh, night air.

"Will you accompany me outside, brother? I daresay I need—"

A sudden tapping to her shoulder brought her whirling around and Lothíriel found herself face to face with Éomer. A gasp stole past her lips and she could not and did not want to hide the smile that overtook her features.

"My lord Éomer!" she said, turning her back to her brother.

_Éomer!_ Through all the dancing she had done she had lost track of the marshal and disappointingly so! She had not failed to notice however, whenever she did catch a glimpse of him, that he did not lack for partners and was forever surrounded by willing females.

"I have come to ask for your hand to dance; that is, if your brother is finished with you?" Éomer asked with a raised brow he extended to Amrothos.

"We were just going to take a turn outside—"

"I would love to!" Lothíriel cut her brother off quickly, taking Éomer's arm for her own. "I think they are playing a slower song next, but I do not think that will stop my feet from traipsing all over your own."

"I have noticed you are not a refined dancer in the least." Éomer teased, causing Lothíriel to huff, leaving Amrothos glaring in their wake.

"Again with the lack of etiquette my lord." Lothíriel chided as they took to the center of the dancefloor. "You would think with all the lady partners you've acquired this evening that they would impart some manner of decorum on you."

_Really, Loth? Are you envious much?_

"Frivolous and immature," Éomer discarded his previous partners with ease and the comfort that settled into Lothíriel's being was rather unnerving; she was not the jealous type in the least! But alas, Lord Éomer did turn her world quite upside-down. "They are nothing compared to you."

"Better dancers, I assure you!" Lothíriel blushed brightly at his words, undeniably happy at his admonishment.

As the musicians began to tune their instruments to play a soft melody, Éomer and Lothíriel took a few paces from one another and exchanged a bow and curtsy before he took her right hand in his left and placed his other hand about her waist, drawing them so close they almost touched. Lothíriel was sure that if they were drawn any closer he would hear the rapid firing of her heart, the breathlessness of her voice.

"I'm willing to suffer the consequences." Éomer told her softly as the music began to swirl in languid notes about them. A single fiddle sung a despairingly heartfelt tune and Lothíriel noticed that the majority of the revelers had taken seats to watch the couples own the floor, more than half of the eyes on her and Éomer.

"Have you been enjoying yourself my lady?"

"Very much so! I cannot remember a time when I have had such fun!" Lothíriel said enthusiastically, and she well meant it.

"Your foot does not pain you?" Éomer asked her.

Lothíriel tried not to smile too brightly. _He cares to remember… _"If it aches I do not even notice it. Old Agna truly is a miracle worker."

He let go of her waist then and spun her in a delicate circle away from him before capturing her hand and holding it high above their heads in an arc as they walked a slow circle. The piper had joined the fiddler now to play a slow, haunting melody. Éomer and Lothíriel said little with their mouths but much with their eyes, never once breaking contact as they turned.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Lothíriel asked once they had joined once more, moving in the opposite direction now.

"I can't recall a time when I've taken more pleasure."

Lothíriel's feet chose that moment to forget their movements and instead stepped on his own, causing their dance to be interrupted. She blushed brightly and ducked her head, focusing on pulling back her skirts to right her willful feet.

"My apologies! I swear they have a mind of their own!"

When she had gotten back into the rhythm of the dance and dropped her skirts, she brought her gaze up to Éomer to find him smiling down lightly at her, his eyes warm.

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked anxiously. "You are making fun of me, aren't you? I warned you! I told you I was not a good dancer! I swear I have two left feet!" _You're babbling!_

"I cannot fathom how beautiful you are." Éomer said, shocking Lothíriel so much that she faltered once more. Éomer caught her and used her momentum to bring their bodies closer, so much so that they did touch.

"Me?"

He chuckled lowly, his hand curling around her waist. Flames burst from his possessive touch to torment her soul and Lothíriel found herself breathless for another reason entirely. "Aye, you."

She worked to swallow the thick lump of bashfulness that had wedged its way from her stomach up, and managed to squeak out, "I… Thank you…very much, Lord Éomer."

"Éomer," he said quickly. "Please, just call me Éomer." His eyes dropped to her lips as they parted of their own will and she breathed, "Éomer."

"I rather like the sound of my name coming from your lips." He told her, his voice dropping another octave as once again he spun her away and they created the arc with their hands, turning but never looking away.

_I have not the faintest idea what he has done to me, but the man has stolen my wits_, Lothíriel thought as he pulled her back into his arms, this time even closer than the last.

"You may call me Lothíriel." She said stupidly. "And I think you very beautiful tonight too."

Éomer chortled and Lothíriel mentally groaned. _Men do not like to be called beautiful! _"Handsome," she corrected hastily. "Very handsome."

"I will take any compliment from you and cherish it, for I know how sharp your tongue can be." His smile was quick and teasing and Lothíriel's face quickly fell into a scowl.

However, he twirled her away and Lothíriel almost too belatedly noticed that the song had ended and the women were curtsying to their partners. She hastily dropped to do the same and Éomer could barely hold back his laughter from the look on her face.

_Sharp indeed_, she thought, as the musicians turned to one another and spoken amongst themselves before nodding, and the people on the dancefloor began to titter excitedly for some unknown reason.

"You are lucky the end of the song saved you from having to endure more of it." She turned to leave him on the dancefloor but suddenly found herself caught by his strong hand.

"Stay; you will like this next one." Éomer guided her to the opposite side of the room and placed her in the long row of women who had gathered before the columns, Lothíriel belatedly noticed.

"I will?"

"Aye, watch."

Éomer dashed to the other side of the wide room where the men had lined up to face the women. Lothíriel noticed that a fiddler had moved to one end of the rows and the piper had moved to the other, while the drummer and remaining fiddler relocated to the outskirts of the groupings, and all were retuning their instruments. Lothíriel noticed the closest fiddler plucking his bow, staring at the piper who returned the mock glare with genial contempt. She was suddenly confused however the women about her bustled with excitement, chattering to each other. Lothíriel looked around for Éowyn but found herself alone; Éomer had taken his place with the men and merely smirked at her across the expanse of the floor, looking positively dashing in his crimson tunic and black trousers.

_How he felt against me… What I wouldn't give to…_

To distract herself from such hedonistic thoughts, Lothíriel turned to the woman on her right. "What is happening?"

"It's The Duel!" At her quizzical expression the woman continued. "You don't have a dance like this in Gondor?"

Lothíriel shook her head and the woman beamed. "The musicians on each end duel their tunes to one another, and while the fiddler plays the men take a turn to dance and then when the piper plays the women duel their dance to the men! In the end the crowd decides the winning force!"

Mortified, Lothíriel shot a look of pure contempt at Éomer. He was laughing, red in the face from doing so, and if she were less than a lady she would show him with just one hand how upset she was! _That mongrel! _She seethed, glaring at him. She could not dance with another person, but dancing alone was even worse! Singled out to stumble over her own feet and trip on her own skirts was something else entirely!

But before she could feign a bout of nausea the crowd around her hushed and the drummer began a rapid beat before the piper began to play. The crowd who had not joined began to clap in tempo, stomping their feet with the beat. All of the musicians began to play as the women began to ready themselves for the first round of The Duel.

The piper began to play solo in his tune and the women stamped their feet to the beat, crying out in glee while stepping up in all colors of skirts and flourishes. Lothíriel became suddenly very determined to claim the victory in the women's favor and she joined them with vigor, a grin on her face. They performed a synchronized twirl and step that Lothíriel had no idea how to do but unsteadily participated in nonetheless before retreating to their line.

The opposite fiddler took his turn against the piper and the men began to stomp, creating a deafening roar in the room as some hooted and others hollered. They stepped forth to do a quick jig before returning to their own line, smug at their step. Lothíriel grabbed her skirts in both hands and sashayed her way to the center next to the others, twirling and stamping as the piper whistled his tune. Before she turned her back when they were done she stuck her tongue out at Éomer and some members of the crowd laughed, causing her to grin mischievously.

The next bout of the men brought some to spring into the air and kick their legs, but the women were not to be deterred. Lothíriel would try no such feat but there were braver ones than her that did so, and she laughed along with them. The men took another turn, sweating now along with the fiddler who worked furiously at his strings and the piper who played past his heart's content. Éomer stamped to the center of the floor and Lothíriel sent him a challenging look as he moved nimbly in a complicated step. He stuck his tongue out _at her_ before retreating to his side and Lothíriel threw her head back and laughed with the parts of the crowd nearest them.

The piper took a turn down the rows, playing hard and fast, before the women rushed to the center to dance a quick jig. Lothíriel did not know the steps and fumbled, but all the while watched Éomer with amiably hard eyes and a laughing smile. She kicked her feet and swept off the floor in a grand show of swirling skirts as the fiddler and the piper met in the middle of the floor and dueled to the very death of their instruments.

The men and the woman suddenly broke their lines and met in the center as well, hooting and hollering and moving frantically to the tempo as the crowd clapped along. Lothíriel laughed and shook her head and tried desperately to keep up with Éomer but it was no use; her feet were bone tired and he was the better dancer of the two.

The piper and the fiddler ended their duel with a flourish and a bowed to one another, and the men and women did the same as the crowd erupted into a fit of boisterous glee. The crowd could not decide on a single winner and instead ale was dumped over both the fiddler and the piper as the drummer and remaining fiddler took up another song.

"I could not go again!" Lothíriel laughed as Éomer approached her. "I am sorely overheated and need to rest my feet!

"Let us take a turn outside; the night air will help." Éomer offered her his arm and they escaped the dancefloor with no one the wiser, propriety be damned. They slipped over the threshold of the double entryway and walked to the low battlement surrounding the Golden Hall, lingering near a glowing brazier. There were other people that had gathered outside for a breath of fresh air as well, but they stood far enough away that a conversation would not be overheard.

"I have never heard of a dance such as The Duel!" Lothíriel gasped, brushing sweat-slicked hair from her forehead. "What fun!"

"It is an old, old dance here in Rohan." Éomer told her as the night breeze tossed his hair over his broad shoulders. "The crowd can never decide on a winner."

"Truly?" Lothíriel laughed. "So I made a fool of myself for nothing?"

"That is not unlike any other day." Éomer teased and Lothíriel swatted at him playfully.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of the cool night air, grateful for the relief that accompanied the action. "You were right; it is very pleasant out here."

"The nights of Rohan tend to be much milder than the days." Éomer said, his eyes trailing down to her face. Lothíriel did not notice though because she was looking out over the quiet village and fields surrounding Edoras, before turning her grey gaze to the night sky.

"You can see so many stars out here." she said softly, turning a small smile to Éomer. "Sometimes I like to see how many I can count before I go to sleep."

"On some nights the fields are lit up with the radiance of the full moon and you can see all the way to the Entwash." Éomer replied, stepping closer to Lothíriel. She did not deny the contact and instead leant in to him, her body softening against his own.

"I very much like Rohan. Your people are very welcoming and your land is very open and beautiful." Lothíriel said after a few heartbeats of silence in which they just enjoyed each other's company.

"You make it easy for them to be fond of you."

"I am just being myself." Lothíriel said gently, and was grateful that he could not see her blush.

Éomer turned his eyes down to her once more before tenderly resting his opposite hand on top of the one that lay on his arm. "I think you do not realize what an amazing woman you truly are." He told her, and she smiled radiantly up at him.

"I fear I make quite a fool of myself around you very often, so I must admit it surprises me that you think so." Lothíriel forced herself to say, though she didn't mean it to sound so breathless. But with Éomer so close, her soul so light, and the night so perfect, it was hard to focus on much else but the man before her.

"I think many things about you and not one of them has anything to do with a fool." Éomer told her, his fingers stroking the back of her hand lightly.

"Not a willful, impudent child, demanding in her ways?"

"No. I see a thoughtful and selfless woman who has a heart bigger than I think she even knows. Who loves to learn and accepts those around her freely and without judgment. I see a spirited, independent female who knows what she wants and fights for it, even though it would maybe be better to think before she acts."

Lothíriel glowered. "If you are referring to the feat of stealth I pulled off to get to Rohan I refuse to apologize for that." She acquiesced slightly then, her brow softening, her voice becoming less hard. "I do however need to thank you for saving my life that day on the battlefield. If it were not for your quick cunning and steadfast determination I shudder to think what could've happened."

"At first I didn't believe my own eyes, seeing you lying there on the battlefield." Éomer admitted with a gentle smile.

"I wish things had ended differently and we had arrived at Rohan on a calmer note; that being said, I am more than thankful to be standing here on this night. I am eternally indebted to you, Éomer." She turned to him then, laying her hand on top of his own and squeezing gently. His body angled to face her fully and they were no more than a hairsbreadth apart now, their hands holding on desperately to one another as the stars twinkled high above.

"You did not let me finish my thoughts on you." Éomer whispered, lifting a calloused hand to lie upon her cheek.

Lothíriel felt all the breath rush out of her as she whispered in return, "Finish them now."

Lothíriel watched as Éomer dipped his head down to hers, pausing a breath away from her lips. She gazed up at him to meet his own half-lidded eyes, her heart rattling away in her chest. The hand that held his gripped tightly as their bodies collided, needing to get closer and unable to do so. She parted her lips on an agonized exhale, wanting, desperately _needing_ his lips upon her own; she knew she would not last another moment without his kiss.

"Éomer!"

So quickly they dashed apart from one another, thrusting their hands down to their respective sides. Lothíriel blushed hotly at the intrusion and thankfully Éomer spun to hide her with his body, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

"Éomer come quickly! The dwarf and the elf have entered a drinking game with one another!" It was Éothain who had interrupted them and Lothíriel cursed him to the moon and back as he guffawed, completely unaware of the tryst he had broken. "Can you believe it? An elf thinks to best a _dwarf_ at drinking!" His voice held a notable slur and he swayed precariously on his feet as he sloppily waved to Éomer.

Much to Lothíriel's annoyance Éothain did not move away, but instead waited for Éomer to depart her and head inside. Éomer stepped away from her and she reached out to him, her fingers curling in on her palm when she realized what she was about. He turned then and looked at her, his eyes shining with unhinged desire in the glowing light of the stars.

"If there is one person who is more thankful for your presence here at Rohan than yourself it is I." He bowed his head then in a parting nod. "Good night, Lothíriel."

* * *

It's my birthday today so I don't have to apologize for how long this chapter turned out. =] Though I'm sorrynotsorry anyway, because I don't think you guys would want me to end it any other way! ;]

This is definitely my favorite chapter so far; I had so much fun with it! For the first song that Lothíriel and Éowyn danced to I imagined it to be Lindsey Stirling's "Roundtable Rival" (without all the extra froufrou that wouldn't have been heard in that time, obviously). It's such a great song and I can see them twirling about the floor having so much fun! For The Duel I imagined the song to be "Congress Reel by Poitin" by Poitin which is also a great, fun song to dance around to!

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter for as long as I did, and hopefully your eyes aren't bleeding too badly! =]


	16. Chapter 16: Lovesick

**Chapter Sixteen: Lovesick**

The day after the celebration all of Edoras was slow to rise, though Lothíriel was sure she was the last to do so well past noon. No one had bothered her before that for which she was grateful, because though she had retired from the dancing sooner than most sleep had eluded her when she returned to her borrowed chambers. She spent a restless night plagued by thoughts and wakeful dreams of Éomer, her emotions swirling with happiness and hopefulness as she stared out over the village of Edoras from her perch in a window dressed in naught but her shift, listening to the sounds of frivolity carry from Meduseld to her room. She was thankful when exhaustion claimed her after the sun had risen fully, but found she had not garnered enough rest before she awoke to a gentle rapping on her door.

With a sleepy yawn she bid, "Come in."

Althea bustled in with a tray of delicately laid out bites of food and Lothíriel's stomach rumbled, relating its ire at having been ignored for so long. The princess sat up and stretched, glancing down at her pillow to see the flower resting on the fluffy mound, the same one Éomer had given her the night before. She smiled and reached down to fondle it tenderly; she had not parted with it upon returning to her room. As she brushed the petals and thought only of Éomer, Lothíriel remained completely unaware of Althea's hungry-for-gossip stare.

"Wasn't the celebration last night magnificent, my lady?" the maid preened, opening the windows to Lothíriel's room to allow the summer breeze to rustle the tapestries along the walls. Lothíriel hummed out a monotonous response as she set the flower in her lap and then pulled the tray Althea abandoned closer to her, immediately picking up the steaming mug of tea.

"The other girls and I have agreed that Lady Éowyn had the loveliest gown, though you were a close second." Althea giggled and Lothíriel ignored her still, closing her eyes as she sipped her tea.

"Hildale thinks that Lord Amrothos was the most handsome man, but I think she just likes the dark hair of Gondor. I think Lord Éomer was quite dashing, don't you agree?"

Lothíriel knew she was digging for tittle-tattle and paid her no mind as she placed her mug aside and picked up a piece of fruit to nibble on.

"It did not go unnoticed that you two only had eyes for one another throughout the celebration." Althea said smartly as she moved to stoke the fire in the hearth. "Or that you slipped off into the night with only each other for company."

Lothíriel began to choke violently on her fruit and had to put it down to bring a napkin to her mouth, her eyes quickly turning to Althea. The maid ignored _her_ now as Lothíriel coughed out a loud, "What?"

"Why, all of Edoras is talking about the two of you!" Althea whirled happily in a circle, clasping her hands to her bosom. "Especially your behavior during The Duel; did Lord Éomer truly stick his tongue out at you? That is most unlike the Marshal!" Her eyes flickered to the flower Lothíriel was absentmindedly clutching. "He gave you that Lissuin, didn't he?"

Lothíriel gaped at Althea. "All of Edoras?" she whispered, absolutely and completely petrified. _What will Amrothos think? Surely he will send me home now despite the danger!_

"The guards have been saying that they have never seen the Marshal act in such a manner as he has since you arrived; Hildale's husband said he even provoked Master Gamling to a duel over you!"

_Save me from this madness!_ Lothíriel could not stop the panic from churning within her. _What else are those guards and maids saying? Has word reached Théoden? I do not want to go home!_

"Pray tell, what happened when you stepped outside? Hildale does not know; she has not been able to find the guards that were out there. You must tell me, my lady!"

Lothíriel's frayed temper was almost at its breaking point. "Please, fetch the lady Éowyn for me." Lothíriel bit out, her appetite lost. "Make haste."

Althea dropped into a sloppy curtsy before bustling from the room, no doubt eager to tell that vile Hildale of all she had learned! Lothíriel had the right mind to send for another maid; this trivial nonsense could not continue! She pushed her tray away and flopped back down upon her mattress and pillows, groaning at the thought of all the rumors swirling around Edoras.

Lothíriel brought her hands to cover her eyes, wishing she were still asleep. _Amrothos will send word to father and instead of sending me home, father will come to collect me himself! I will never see the light of day again!_

_ All right, that may be a little dramatic…_

_ But what of Éomer?_

Éowyn burst into her room with all the subtly of a battering ram and Lothíriel shot up from bed, relieved to see it was only her friend. She slammed the door behind her and drew the bolt, barring anyone else from entering _thank the gods!_

"Éowyn!" Lothíriel knew she looked stricken, but she was terrified of what Amrothos would do! "That damned Althea!"

"She would not hold her tongue in the least on the way here." Éowyn took Lothíriel's hands as she sat on the bed with her. "Before I entered I forbade her from speaking to anyone else. Do not worry; if she knows what is best for her she will keep her words to herself."

"But what if word has already spread?"

"I have not heard anything…" At Éowyn's words Lothíriel relaxed tremendously, but the look on her friend's face was anything but reassuring; no, Éowyn looked downright smug. "But please, my dear friend, tell me what there would be to hear?"

Lothíriel collapsed back onto her mound of pillows, her face turning from stark white to a thousand shades of red. She bit her bottom lip as a smile blossomed, but she brought a pillow to hide it from Éowyn.

"No! I see you smiling!" Éowyn laughed, tugging at the pillow as she hovered over Lothíriel. "Tell me! My brother has been in an overly sour mood this morning and I would have you tell me why!"

Lothíriel giggled, bringing a hand to her lips and closing her eyes. She remembered as if it had just been moments ago that Éomer had been but a breath from her, a heartbeat away from placing his lips onto hers. She would never forget the look of complete and utter yearning that he had imparted on her as he had left with Éothain, or the feel of his callused skin against her own. He had made her feel light and beautiful with a simple look, and his words had stolen her very reason for living; his continued utterance would be her breath from now on.

"I daresay your brother was about to kiss me last eve."

"Kiss you!" Éowyn all but shrieked, squiggling closer to Lothíriel. "What do you mean 'about to'? What happened!" She shook Lothíriel and the princess laughed, opening her eyes. "Tell me!"

"Éothain chose that exact moment to interrupt us. He was not able to follow through."

"That damned Éothain!" Éowyn stole Lothíriel's words, causing her to giggle once more. "And then, after that?"

"Aragorn offered for my hand in another dance but I declined. I took to the high table and spoke with Théoden for a while before I retired."

"I had looked for you; I thought you were watching the drinking game between Legolas and Gimli! That's where I was."

"It was there that Éomer was taken by Éothain to watch." Lothíriel explained, sighing wistfully.

Éowyn bristled hotly. "That foolish man! I did not think to look for you with my uncle. Why did you not come and find me?"

Lothíriel picked up the wilted flower and began to play with the petals. "In truth I was a little embarrassed by the way things had turned out."

"Whyever so!"

"Mayhap I misread his advances?" Lothíriel bit her bottom lip, her insecurity in the matter plain.

"If there is one thing I know about my brother, it is that when he sets his sights on something he pursues it with everything inside of him; he is very black and white in that sense. There is no middle ground with Éomer, no grey areas." Éowyn coerced a smile from her friend. "No, if he meant to kiss you then that's what he was about! I cannot believe it!"

"I would not get too excited." Lothíriel dimmed ever so slightly. "When we were at Ollä's the other day I heard a group of women talking, expressing how your brother is _no stranger to the woman of Edoras_." _Do I look as jealous as I sound? _Lothíriel tried to smooth the frown from her brow but could not.

Éowyn blinked down at Lothíriel and then burst into laughter. "You are so envious I fear your pretty skin will turn a sickly shade of green!"

Lothíriel huffed and threw the coverlet from her chassis, jumping up from the bed to stalk to the open window. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared out at the beautiful day, her hair lying in a tangled mess down her back.

"I really do not know of my brother's…prowess…among women, and nor do I ever want to find out," Éowyn called to her from the bed, but Lothíriel maintained her position by the window in obstinacy. "But I can assure you: from the moment he laid eyes upon you he has been positively lost to all others."

Lothíriel's heart did a funny little flip-flop as she strained not to smile. _Could it be? _She did not want to give hope to the thought. _The Marshal, interested in me?_

"What if it is just a passing fancy?" Lothíriel asked softly, her grey eyes falling to the flower she did not know she had been holding. She twirled the stem between shaking fingers, causing one of the withered petals to fall to the floor, brushing her flesh as it sank.

"My brother does not give his affections lightly. I honestly cannot remember the last time a lady has caught his eye." Éowyn rose from the bed then, coming to stand next to Lothíriel. "Something tells me this is more.

"Come now! Let us go take a walk outside; it is too pretty to be in here." Éowyn took her hands and leant Lothíriel a smile, desperate to make the forlorn look on her face disappear.

"I do not know if I am ready… I mean to say, I do not know if I could face your brother." Nervousness showed itself in her frantic finger movements, causing another petal to fall to the floor.

"He is away with Théoden; Amrothos accompanied them to the East Mark while Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli went to scout the West." Éowyn laid her fingers on top of Lothíriel's and gave them a little squeeze. "I assure you."

Lothíriel sighed, placing the flower on the sill of the window as she turned to face Éowyn. "All right, let me get dressed."

* * *

The afternoon was humid but tormented by a raging wind which brought with it the promise of another storm. Lothíriel was glad for another borrowed gown that was too small for her, for it kept her cool; the burgundy linen was thin as well, with little embroidery to weigh her down. She vouched to wearing slippers instead of boots and together she and Éowyn left the Golden Hall to walk the great hill of Edoras after plaiting her hair in a single, think strand.

Many people greeted her as the pair strolled through the village, complimenting Éowyn on her dancing the night before and playfully teasing the princess, exchanging other pleasantries as well. Lothíriel took the ribbing affably, warmed by how many of the Rohirrim felt at ease with her. These people made her feel comfortable with their easy smiles and friendly words.

It made her think of her dear Celís and the way she always could make Lothíriel smile despite her mood. In that moment she remembered her promise to her most beloved friend to fetch her a trinket for her help in the mischievous deeds to get her lady to Edoras.

"Is there some place where I may purchase a small trinket? Perhaps a brooch or a carving? I promised my maid Celís that I would return with a gift for her for all that she had helped me to accomplish." Lothíriel asked Éowyn. _Though I'm beginning to think that I will be indebted to poor Celís for the rest of eternity._

"Aye, Old Agna's brother Aroll will have some things for you to choose from. He makes things all year round and sells his wares at the fairs Edoras hosts." Éowyn replied. "His home is at the foot of the village and he would much enjoy our company."

And so the two walked, falling into comfortable silence. The tranquility allowed Lothíriel her own thoughts, though only one person consumed them. A certain horsemaster, one she couldn't wait to see again, but out of embarrassment and uncertainty couldn't stay far enough away from. Her emotions were in a tumult! This was so unlike her; Lothíriel always knew what she wanted and had a plan on how to get it! With Éomer things were so very different. She wanted desperately to talk with him, but fumbled her words. She wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her, yet didn't know if she could be in the same room with him. She yearned for his kiss, but didn't know if she could ever face him again! What if he regretted it? What if he hadn't meant for it to happen? What if he'd had too much ale and didn't even _remember_ trying to kiss her?

Lothíriel sighed, drawing the attention of her friend.

"Dare I even ask?" Éowyn teased gently, elbowing Lothíriel in jest.

Lothíriel offered her a sad smile. "I would not if I were you."

"Then it is a good thing we've made our arrival." Éowyn held the door open for her and Lothíriel stepped through to be greeted by a raucous bout of laughter.

"Well bless my beard!"

Lothíriel watched as a wizened old man walked up to them, bent nearly in half by age. His white beard dragged along the floor but his head was bald, and he was dressed in nearly threadbare trousers and tunic, both of the color brown.

"The Lady of Rohan, Éowyn herself! And none other than Princess Lothíriel!"

Lothíriel thought he bowed at her but she couldn't be sure.

"And you are Aroll. However did you come to be the brother of Old Agna?" Lothíriel teased, causing the old man to cough out a laugh.

"It was our mother's fault I suppose, dreadful old woman that she was." Aroll shook his head and then turned a one-toothed grin to Éowyn. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Lothíriel looks for a trinket for her maid; she promised her one before leaving on her ill-fated journey." Éowyn explained, causing the Aroll to lift a finger and waggle it before turning from them.

"Come, come! I have many things to choose from! With the Midsummer's Eve Festival approaching I have been working like mad!"

As Lothíriel and Éowyn followed after Aroll, Éowyn leaned close to her and whispered, "Believe it or not Aroll is older than Old Agna."

Lothíriel looked at her friend in astonishment. "Truly?"

"Aye, and I hear better than the she-witch too." Aroll led them to the back of his small shack, dodging chairs and tables filled with half-finished trinkets to a shelf filled with many different wares. "Here is the finished lot of it; choose anything you like."

Lothíriel stepped forward after thanking him and began to peruse the products as Éowyn engaged in idle chitchat with Aroll. There were carvings from all types of wood in the shapes of animals or sigils, pretty woven scarves, brooches of the finest metals, and gemstones cut into the shapes of leaves or flowers. Lothíriel found her bauble quickly and easily, dipping her hand carefully behind a row of wooden carvings to obtain it. She smiled as she lifted the silver pin to place in opposite palm; it was a rendition of the Rohirrim horse with a small green gemstone for an eye.

"Ah, those always go quickly. Good choice, good choice indeed. Sturdy enough to hold a winter cloak together on an icy ride." Aroll teetered over to her, flipping his beard over one shoulder and producing an enlarging glass to put over one eye as he took the trinket from Lothíriel. "An emerald too! They are hard to find anymore."

She smiled down at the man before he handed it back to her, and she reached into a small pocket within the confines of her gown to fetch coin. The old man started to protest but Lothíriel would have none of it, and soon enough she and Éowyn were thanking Aroll for his kindness and moving on their way.

"May I see it?" Éowyn asked, holding out an open hand. Lothíriel passed her the pin and Éowyn inspected it closely. The silver was carved perfectly into the shape of the rearing stallion, hammered and hewed by loving hand. It was big enough to hold a cloak but small enough that it would not chafe, and Éowyn deemed it a fine piece indeed.

* * *

The day came and went, bringing with it a storm from the west. The hearty supper was enough to keep them warm from the cool mist of the rain, but Lothíriel found herself retiring to the comforts of her borrowed rooms early nonetheless. Éowyn accompanied her and together they sat before the hearth, listening to the rain and chattering about nothing in particular.

It was close to midnight that Éowyn took her leave of Lothíriel, yawning as she bid her goodnight. Lothíriel watched Éowyn leave before turning her eyes back to the open window, leaning her head against the frame as rain fell in rivulets from the clouds above. She was curled up in the sill in her shift and a blanket, her hair streaming about her shoulders in gentle disarray.

_Come home safe Éomer, _she thought, clutching the wilted flower to her breast.

* * *

The rain had slowed them down and Éomer found their return to Edoras much welcome in the late hour of the night. He, Amrothos, and Théoden had met up with the other three of the broken Fellowship where the Entwash met the Snowbourn, meaning to head home to Edoras before the sun had set. They had been delayed by a pack of orcs that had ambushed them, and the men and their forces ended up running the enemy down close to Mering Stream. The storm had rolled in at that point, making their return journey uncomfortable and troublesome.

Needless to say they were starved, dripping wet, and extremely fatigued by the time they returned to the Golden Hall to find it quiet and graciously warm.

"We will go out again tomorrow morning," Théoden told them as he made his way toward his personal chambers, his helmet propped below his arm. "Get some rest. I will have food sent to your rooms."

Éomer stilled until Théoden had disappeared, turning to Aragorn who had done the same.

"Have you heard word from Gandalf?" Éomer asked him, Legolas and Gimli ceasing in their conversation to listen. Amrothos halted halfway to the wing where his borrowed chambers were, turning around to listen to the heir of Gondor's answer.

"He would've reached Minas Tirith by now." Aragorn replied; he had shared with them what the White Wizard had imparted on him, but no one had been the wiser from his words. "But I have not heard anything."

"Who knows what he even meant!" Gimli rumbled, shaking himself like a dog to rid himself of water. "He spoke nonsense!"

"Gandalf never wastes his breath on meaningless utterances." Legolas said smartly, casting a raised eyebrow down to his dwarfish friend. "We would do well to remember the words he said; we may need to heed them yet."

"And until then? Do we sit here and wait for Sauron's army to smash us into the ground?" Amrothos asked hotly.

"Have faith yet." Aragorn cut in, ever the level head. "This is far from over."

"Get some rest." Éomer interjected, bone-weary himself. "We have another day of full riding ahead of us tomorrow."

"Dwarves do not need rest." Gimli growled, though a fierce yawn overtook him in that moment. Éomer hid a smile as Legolas grabbed Gimli by the shoulder and together with Aragorn they descended the hall to their own rooms. Amrothos had already gone, leaving Éomer to his thoughts as he dredged water-logged to his chambers.

_It bothers me to wait idly by and do nothing while orcs rage at our borders, storming across our lands. _His feet were heavy as he moved, torchlight flickering from the walls. _I will talk to Théoden tomorrow; something more must be done._

His feet inadvertently stilled and Éomer dropped his gaze to the wooden planks beneath his boots. Though his body was worn his heart beat ardently, his brown eyes trailing up the carved door to Lothíriel's chambers. He raised a single, gnarled hand to rest upon the wood before his lids fell over tired eyes and he imagined her lying there on the other side of the door, burrowed deep in a mound of pillows and warm blankets. He fancied that he could smell her clean, lavender scent and only imagined the texture of her fine porcelain skin. How would she greet him after a long day's ride from the Mark? Tenderly and softly, offering him ale and soothing hands? With a smile for him, and only him, before those petal-smooth lips brushed against his own?

_Foolish man_, he thought to himself as he dropped his hand. But he could not move on, did not want to leave her.

_She is safe_, his conscious whispered to him. _Rest easy this night; she is out of harm's way thanks to your sure hand._

Then and only then did he move, if only but a step. He yearned for her, wanted desperately to knock on her door and steal into her chambers all decency forgotten. For he could not, no matter how much he wanted to, rid his mind of the way she had so willingly melted against him, her face turned to his with hunger dancing like flames in her eyes. He could not forget the warmth of her body or the way her lips had parted, the sound of his name passing on a breath. The very recollection of it brought him to clench his fists; how he yearned to hear her whisper to him once more.

_How she tempts me! _With her refreshing, carefree personality that was always so open and her smiles so easily given she had captured him from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her.

He ripped himself from her memory then, stalking down the hall to his own rooms. It would do him no good to stand there like a lovesick boy, preening over someone he could never have.

_And what happened to winning her hand?_

He could not let such trivialities get in his way anymore. War was upon them, he told himself, and he had to focus solely on keeping his country from falling into the hands of Sauron.

_Aye, you do that_, his conscious chortled, knowing it was a futile thing indeed.

* * *

So glad this week is over! It's been a wicked one for me; though I don't have to much to look forward to by working the weekend, but oh well.

So at the last minute I decided to chop this chapter in half; it was 14 pages long! I figured you guys could use a little more suspense in your lives and decided to keep you hanging in indecision (much like our heroine) for a week. ;] I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless; until next time!


	17. Chapter 17: Misgivings

Because I love you all, from new followers and favorites to old, here is the next chapter early! Woohoo! Have fun wading through the feminine indecisiveness in this one! *cackles* See you all on Friday!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Misgivings**

Lothíriel woke the next morning to rumble of thunder and a chilly draft in her room. She pulled the blankets higher over her head and wished that she could somehow go back to sleep, but such as it was she was not so lucky. With a groan she rolled onto her back and threw her arms over her head to stretch, a wide yawn scrunching her features. Something tickled her chin and with a scratch to her unruly hair Lothíriel reached down for the flower Éomer had given to her, smiling softly as she brought it to her nose to see if it smelled any longer.

_You're acting like a silly girl. _Her conscience taunted, but Lothíriel paid it no heed as she closed her eyes and sighed wistfully. _Confused and distraught one moment and then giggly and eager the next._

She ignored that niggling voice in her head and instead pondered, _I will get to see him today. _Suddenly invigorated to rise and ready for the day, she brushed back the linens and stood with a mighty stretch, and without waiting for a maid dressed in one of her many borrowed gowns. While humming a tune from the celebration two nights before she brushed out the long length of her hair before wrapping it about her head in a coronet.

With a spring to her step and a smile on her face she made her way into the dining hall only to find it relatively deserted.

"Where has everyone gone?" she asked a serving girl who bid her a cup of steaming tea, knowing the princess pined for the confection in the morning.

"The men have ridden out for the day, though I daresay they will be out long. A storm is coming up from the south."

Lothíriel thanked the maid and, feeling slightly less motivated, sank into a nearby chair and sipped her tea. _What would you say to him anyway? You haven't thought that far ahead. _With a sigh she reveled in the partial tranquility of the blustery morning until Éowyn bustled in from the main doors to the hall, a pair of shaggy hounds trailing behind her.

"There you are! I heard word that one of the villagers is in labor with her first child and was readying the horses to make haste down the hill; would you like to come?" Éowyn ascended the dais in a dark green gown with a high neck and her hair pulled into a coronet like Lothíriel's, her eyes bright with vigor and excitement.

"You'll recall that I won't be of much help." Lothíriel told her friend as Éowyn snatched up an apple from a solitary bowel in the center of the table and bit through its tough rind.

"Aye but the midwife's own apprentice is out of town on a field-call and needs all the help she can get." Éowyn waggled her eyebrows and smirked at Lothíriel. "What? You can stand the stench of orc guts but the thought of childbirth leaves you faint?"

Lothíriel scoffed, grabbing an apple and abandoning her tea. "You will rue the day you mock me, _Lady _of Rohan."

* * *

Indeed childbirth was something that Lothíriel could quite go without witnessing for the next, oh, hundred years or so. The woman had been as big as a house, as loud as a windstorm, with a mouth to make any pirate cringe. For hours she had screamed, cursing everyone from Lothíriel, to her husband, to the gods that did this to her, until a bubbling, bouncy, baby boy was delivered just after noon.

Glad that she hadn't had time to eat her apple but now starved, Lothíriel and Éowyn made their way back up the hill of Edoras to Meduseld for the noon meal. Rain had been falling in earnest for over an hour now, and with it the rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning were many. They were readily soaked by the time they reached the Golden Hall and had to change out of their clothes before sitting down for the meal.

"Here my lady; I shall help you."

Lothíriel smiled politely at Althea as the maid bustled into her rooms after her, though she suddenly felt wary. "Thank you; I would make haste as to not anger Théoden."

"He can have an awful temper sometimes." Althea acquiesced, deftly untying the laces of Lothíriel's gown as Lothíriel pulled her hair down from its withered and drenched 'do. "Though I do not think he is back from his ride on the Mark yet, my lady."

_Ah. I forgot about that._

Althea began to prattle off into some nonsensical conversation that Lothíriel only listened partly to. When Althea bid her sit in the chair before the looking glass so she could brush out her hair Lothíriel obliged and closed her eyes to the soothing ministrations. The slight headache she had acquired at the woman's cottage began to wane and she sighed in contentment.

"I was never able to find out what happened with Lord Éomer and you the night of the celebration." Althea giggled, daring to broach the topic, as if Lothíriel were merely playing coy and would relent with enough prodding. Lothíriel's eyes snapped wide and she opened her mouth to dismiss the prying girl but her conscience stopped her.

_Do not heed her. You will get yourself worked up over a silly girl._

Althea sighed, ever the dramatic as she slowly combed Lothíriel's hair of tangles. "None of the guards are talking and no one claimed to see you out there. Perhaps it was someone else?"

Lothíriel closed her eyes and ground her teeth together tightly. _Not a word._

"It would not be the first time, for you know how Lord Éomer is. He likes his ale well enough, but the ladies even more so." Althea gasped lightly and paused to cover her mouth. "Or mayhap you don't know?"

Lothíriel could hardly take anymore. She did not need these idle words to crowd her judgment of what had happened that night of the celebration; however, the seed had been planted and when she rose abruptly it was on unsteady legs.

"You are dismissed." She told Althea flatly, snatching the comb from her hand.

Althea offered her a hasty curtsy and was on her way, leaving Lothíriel standing in her wake in a broadening sense of dismay.

_This is not the first time I have heard of such exploits_. Lothíriel found herself lost in thought of the night of the celebration, suddenly very desperate to recall every minute detail. Had Éomer been drinking? How much? Who else had he danced with? Was there a secret wager that involved her between him and his men? And if any of the following were true then why had he been spending an unseemly amount of time with her?

It all made no sense and left Lothíriel feeling uncharacteristically and unshakably glum.

She tied her hair back in a simple braid and donned a fresh gown before leaving her room to find Éowyn outside her door about to knock. Lothíriel listened with only half an ear as Éowyn prattled about the birth, the newborn, what was to be expected for the new mother next, and this that and the other. With her attention solely on her thoughts and her eyes on her feet, it was with great surprise that she heard Gimli's booming voice when she entered the hall.

"A little rain never hurt anyone!"

Lothíriel started and paused as Éowyn continued on to her seat, still chattering about the birth. She looked up from her position of entry into the hall and saw that the high table was filled with its regular inhabitants: Théoden, Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, Amrothos, Éowyn, and _Éomer_. Lothíriel's heart faltered and her lips parted on a gasp of surprise, her earlier enthusiasm of his presence abandoned under pretense.

As if he could hear her over Gimli's angry consternation over the fact that they had been driven in by the rain, Éomer looked over his shoulder and met her eyes.

And Lothíriel positively froze.

_I thought they were out for the day!_

Her conscience was flat as it responded, _O__bviously not, chit. Now quit gawking and start moving._

She belatedly noticed that Éowyn had taken her seat and quickly busied herself doing the same, ignoring Éomer's look of puzzlement at her lack of eagerness from seeing him.

_It is not as though I am not happy… _She frowned at the food before her, taking the basket of biscuits Éowyn handed to her. _But I do not know _what_ I am._

And so for the duration of the meal she kept to herself and her thoughts. Those around her carried on the conversation without her help and Lothíriel noticed little of what was spoken. She had eyes only for her plate and her ears were closed, and so it was not a surprise that it took a nudge from Éowyn to break her reverie of muddled thoughts.

"Lothíriel? I was telling them of the birth this morning; how you stood in the corner whiter than a sheet and barely moved." Éowyn noticed the line of her brow and tilted her head ever so slightly. Lothíriel could see the question in her eyes but thankfully Amrothos's jovial hoot of laughter distracted Éowyn from asking anything.

"You can tend to all the seeping wounds from battle that come your way but childbirth leaves you squeamish?" Amrothos looked down at Lothíriel and grinned but the smile that Lothíriel shared with him was barely that, did not even touch her eyes. Her eyes were drawn to Éomer then to find he was watching her with an unreadable expression, one she hastily turned from to renew her vigor in her meal.

Amrothos barreled into a story from their childhood meant to, once again, humiliate Lothíriel, but she paid him no heed. She felt suddenly queasy, her mind shaping new thoughts of dread and assumption.

_He looks at me, but why?_

_Is he upset with me? For what?_

_What did the night of the celebration mean?_

_Maybe he tries to catch my eye to convey his apologies, that he had not meant to act in such a manner…_

The noon meal ended and Lothíriel hastily stood from her chair as Éowyn rose, the men lingering; she did not want to be left here with them, but most of all Éomer. _I cannot face his questions. Not until I figure out what is going on in my own head._

_The only way to answers, _her conscience chided, _is through asking._

She did not want to ask. Could not ask. She was a veritable mess of feminine misgivings and ill-timed gossip.

"Lady Lothíriel," She heard his voice and cringed, because the sound was followed by the scraping of a chair. She did not stop her descent from the dais and her heart had quickened into a thundering rhythm, one that added to her anxiety and trepidation.

"Lothíriel!"

Lothíriel drew to a sudden halt but did not turn, her fingers turning white against the folds of her skirts which she clutched in her fists. Éowyn paused not a few paces before her and turned, and Lothíriel watched her eyes widen as Éomer strode up behind her and grasped her elbow. His large hand was gentle but he did force her to face him, and Lothíriel was met with hard eyes of deep brown that looked down at her from his imposing height to drive her even more madly fretful. His expression was drawn tight in a look that Lothíriel could not read, and her panicked nerves threatened to leave her witless as she stared wide-eyed up at him.

"What is it, Lothíriel? You leave as though the devil himself were at your heels." Éomer scanned her, his hand never leaving her limb. "Are you unwell?"

Lothíriel gaped like a dead fish and felt as weak as one. She stepped back and took her arm with her, shaking her head. "I…" She thought quickly, her eyes darting from his mouth to his eyes, before a lackluster excuse crowded her mind. "I must attend to my sewing."

Éomer raised a single brow and his voice was flat as he asked, "Your sewing?" Lothíriel knew the lie would not hold and watched as Éomer's face darkened in disbelief even more. "You do not like to sew."

"I… I…" Lothíriel gulped down her fear and quickly dropped into a sloppy curtsy. "I must be on my way."

She whirled from him and grabbed Éowyn's arm, all but dragging her friend from the dining hall.

* * *

Later that afternoon the rain still pelted the walls of Meduseld and the ladies had retired to Lothíriel's chambers to sip at tea and talk idly about nothing in particular. Lothíriel sat in her window and watched the world outside be swathed with rainshed. There weren't many townsfolk about and the ones that were scrambled with children or livestock as to not get drenched by the rainwater.

"I do not understand you."

Lothíriel looked up dismally from watching the downpour to bring her eyes to Éowyn, who sat before the hearth with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. "I thought you were excited about the prospect of my brother's interest in you; why did you act that way earlier?"

Lothíriel stared glumly at Éowyn before dropping her eyes to her own steaming mug. "I do not know what came over me."

"You are still thrilled by the prospect, yes?"

"Yes. No. I do not know…" Lothíriel sighed and raised her head. "I fear I hear too much gossip and allow my own insecurities to best me."

"What happened now?" Éowyn shifted her skirts to better seat herself before the snapping fire, her light brow creased ever so slightly.

"It was that tittering maid again; I am sorely tired of her." Lothíriel snapped, though not at Éowyn. "I just do not know what to think of the whole ordeal anymore."

"Why do you not just ask Éomer?" Éowyn mused matter-of-factly. "My brother is honest and will be so with you if you ask it of him. Though I daresay I know not where these thoughts are coming from in you; Éomer has been nigh infatuated with you since the very first moment he saw you. I have told you this, and it is not just I who have noticed but his closest friends as well! We all know Éomer well enough and can see that he is besotted with you."

Lothíriel turned red hot with a blush. "I just cannot help but think that maybe I have put too much thought into something that didn't even happen." she murmured, her eyes on her cup once more.

"Again, why do you not ask him?"

Lothíriel sighed heavily. "Because every time I lay eyes on him my wits run for the mountains without so much as even glancing back. And I fear the sting of rejection, if that is the matter of it."

Éowyn chuckled lightly. "Well I daresay I can shed no further insight than I already have. It is up to you to do what you feel is best. But I do not think you can avoid Éomer for much longer; he is much like you in the sense he will not let the matter lay."

Éowyn, however, completely misjudged Lothíriel's will of evasion. The princess pleaded sickness at suppertime and instead ate in her room, though she had no appetite and only fingered and nibbled the morsels. She continued to war with her own thoughts and fell into a fitful sleep early on in the night, none the wiser from her tempestuous musings.

* * *

Lothíriel woke the next morning in a sorely rotten mood. The weather was dreary and the air still clung with humidity, making dressing in the morning very unpleasant. She allowed Althea to do most of the work with the green gown that had been given to her, as well as pull her hair back into a simple knot at the base of her skull. She did not wait for Éowyn to go to breakfast because she needed tea to wake her up before she encountered someone else; already she had been cross with Althea, though her words had thankfully hushed the maid into silence. The young girl thought once more to pry for information, and why it seemed prudent for the teenager to continue to pester Lothíriel the princess would never understand.

_I will ask for another maid to attend to me. _Lothíriel concluded. _This nonsense has gone on long enough._

She departed her rooms to find the corridor empty, and with a mighty yawn she began her trek. She came upon the dining hall and found that Théoden and Aragorn were the only two breaking their fast, and Lothíriel joined them with barely a semblance of a smile. She hadn't even taken her seat before she ordered a servant to bring her a strong mug of tea, and it wasn't long after it was procured that Gimli, Legolas, and Éowyn came to the table.

"You did not wait for me this morning." Éowyn commented as she took a biscuit from the basket.

"My apologies; I am not feeling right this morning." Lothíriel held her mug in both hands and blew across the steaming top.

"Good morning Lady Éowyn, Loth." Amrothos joined them then, falling into his seat next to his sister. Éomer was right behind him and sat down as well, and when Lothíriel caught his eye she quickly looked away down at her empty plate.

_Should I talk to him? What would I say? _Her mind felt muddled as her heart threatened to rattle her ribcage to pieces.

"Good morning Lothíriel." Éomer leaned across his plate to address her, but Lothíriel was left tongue-tied. She glanced at him shortly and gave him a retreating smile before busying herself with a biscuit. She missed the frown Éomer gave her before he turned a befuddled brow to his own plate.

"How has your scouting been?" Éowyn remarked much too cheerily and loudly for Lothíriel's taste.

"We came upon orcs just as we were about to ride home the day before yesterday." Théoden told her as the others murmured in agreement. "We ran them down at Mering Stream."

"Were there many?" Éowyn asked, taking a dainty bite of her biscuit.

"No, but there is more yet." Aragorn replied. "We have to remain on our guard."

"Edoras will hold fast against her foes; we ride out again today to patrol the borders." Théoden added, causing Lothíriel's heart to drop.

_I go another day without seeing him._ She peeked up from buttering her biscuit to find Éomer's own eyes on his meal. He must've felt the heat of her gaze as she so often did with him and quickly looked up, but Lothíriel turned her face once more, a blush staining her cheeks.

_Aye, and you are mucking up the time you have quite royally, _her conscience huffed, causing Lothíriel's mood to darken even more so. She did not need the reminder of the way she fumbled under the eyes of the Marshal.

"What did you ladies do to occupy your time yesterday?" Éomer tried again, forgoing his food to lean across his plate.

Lothíriel, ever the indecisive coward, sat back in her chair and tipped her tea to her lips so she didn't have to answer.

_What is wrong with me!_

"The day before last we took a turn about Edoras and Lothíriel purchased a trinket for her maid back at Dol Amroth. Then yesterday we took to one of the villager's cottages who had gone into childbirth." Éowyn thankfully took up the conversation, though it was much to Éomer's chagrin.

"No archery sister? I daresay you are going to lose your skill with the bow if you lapse too much." Amrothos teased and Lothíriel shot him a glare full of daggers. He frowned down at her. "What crawled into your skirts and rotted?"

Gimli let out a great hoot of laughter at the term and Lothíriel kicked her brother under the table quite roughly. The maneuver caused him to bang his knee against the bottom of the table and his scowl to deepen.

"Oye; someone rolled out of bed on the wrong side. What is with you this morning? Is it your womanly ailments?"

Fire sprang to Lothíriel's cheeks as Éowyn said loudly, "Really, Amrothos!"

"What?" he shot back, turning spiteful eyes to the Lady of Rohan.

"Leave her be! Can't you see that she isn't awake yet?"

_He comprehends nothing through that thick skull of his. _Lothíriel was too tired to retort out loud, but instead busied herself with her breakfast. Thankfully Amrothos left her alone after that and the conversation was directed back to the subject of war and orcs, battle plans and weaponry. Lothíriel did not eat much for she suddenly did not have an appetite, and she waited until the others of the table started to depart before she deemed herself awake enough to do so as well.

"I will ready the horses at the stables and wait for you all there." Aragorn bid, standing from his place.

"I will accompany you." Amrothos stood as well and Lothíriel quickly moved to her feet. If Amrothos left then it would just be her, Éowyn, and Éomer, and Lothíriel was not ready for that confrontation just yet; she knew Éowyn would leave the table to give her and Éomer "time alone". It was the last thing she wanted, yet the only thing her heart desired.

"I will see you off." she said hastily, pushing away from the table to walk in tandem with her brother. She followed in his long strides and was halfway across the hall when a strong hand gripped her upper arm and forced her none-too-delicately to turn, bringing her face to face with Éomer.

"Why do you avoid me?" he asked her harshly, his scowl black. "Did I do something wrong?"

Horrified, Lothíriel began to shake her head frantically. Her thoughts fled her and she merely opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, her eyes wide with fright. Éomer took her gaping maw and pale face in with apprehension, asking, "What is wrong, Lothíriel?"

_Everything! _She thought dismally. _Everything and nothing!_

"It was the night of the celebration." He visibly waned, dropping his hand from her arm. "That is why you have been acting this way. I overstepped my boundaries."

Lothíriel garbled some semblance of a word, still shaking her head. "Éomer I—… That is not it! I just…"

_You have come to mean much to me in the short time we have known each other. My feelings for you grow every day. I do not know how to say it, and so here I stand._

He backed away from her then, dropping into a very formal and very stiff bow. "You have my deepest and most sincere apologies, my lady. I know now where I stand…where we stand."

_No!_

"You will have no more trouble from me. On my honor, I swear it."

_No! That is not it at all! _"Éomer… Please—"

"Good day, princess."

He turned his back on her! That wretch actually was not going to give her a single moment to catch her faint breath and explain herself! Hadn't she told him that time and time again she made a fool of herself in front of him? Did he not listen to a single word she said? Suddenly angry with herself, with him, and with everything in between, she called out to him, her voice raised and shrill.

"Éomer wait!" She fumbled about for something to say, her mouth working aimlessly as her hands fluttered about in restlessness. Anything would be better than this conundrum of dismay and vacillation!

"I…I have heard of your bouts with women!" she called after him loudly, notching her chin high though her conscience screamed at her in fault.

_What in all the name of the gods are you doing!_

The silence that fell in the hall was embarrassingly awkward. Éowyn was just leaving the high table and paused, her face mottled with confusion as servants ceased their ministrations to listen. The guard nearest to them shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat as Éomer turned to face her, his handsome face drawn tight with baffled disdain.

"What?"

"Your… your prowess." Lothíriel waved her hand dismissively as her cheeks burned. "I have heard the women speaking of it."

He turned to face her fully then and strode back the way he had come, causing Lothíriel to retreat a few steps from the black look marring his features.

"Who would tell you such a thing?" His eyes flashed dangerously as they dashed to his sister who stood slack-jawed on the dais, not moving a single muscle.

"I…I…" Lothíriel scrambled for something to say but her wits had left her once more.

"Is that why you have been avoiding me? Because of things you heard from others?" Éomer looked positively livid and Lothíriel's heart dropped to her feet.

_Now you've done it._

"Éomer I might've spoken out of turn; please, let me refrain—"

"What of your suitors back home in Dol Amroth?" His voiced carried across the hall in his ire.

Aghast, Lothíriel reared back her head as the blood drained from her face. She actually felt slightly faint. "What?"

"Your brother," Éomer spat the words. "So kindly informed me that you have men awaiting your hand back at Dol Amroth. Many, in fact."

Lothíriel clenched her jaw tight to keep from screaming. _Amrothos! _She would make him _bleed_ before the day was through!

Éomer's words dropped to a level that no one else could hear, stepping closer to her yet. "You tease me with your eyes and your gentle words, knowing all along you had men lined up waiting to make a bid for your hand."

"That is not true!" Lothíriel fired back. _I haven't had a suitor in months!_

_Oh how did things go so disastrously wrong?_

"Then tell me what is!"

Jealousy reared its ugly head once more. "Why don't you tell me? How am I to know which gossips are true and which aren't? Where there is smoke there once was fire, isn't that true?" Lothíriel retorted angrily, her indecision and misery of the past few days forgotten. It was his fault that she felt this way! He sauntered into her life and she had been a mess ever since!

Éomer adopted a sneering grin before he raked Lothíriel from the top of her head to her slippered feet, lingering brazenly on her breasts. "My lady, if you wanted to know of my antics behind closed doors, you merely had to ask."

Lothíriel blushed clear up to her hairline down to the very nails of her toes, her mouth falling open in absolute shock.

However, before she could continue this debacle, the doors to the Golden Hall flew open to admit a breathless Strider, his sweat-slicked hair hanging around a face boasting of a tremendous grin.

"The beacons are lit!"

Théoden had come back into the room upon hearing the raised voice of Éomer and he looked at Aragorn now with wide eyes as the ranger strode into the middle of the hall, passing by Lothíriel and Éomer in his haste.

"Gondor calls for aid!"

Amrothos and Legolas quickly followed by Gimli hurried into the hall to hear the last of Aragorn's words. All eyes turned to Théoden then and Lothíriel found herself forgetting of her bout of words with Éomer.

_Uncle Denethor? Is Gondor in trouble? _Her eyes flickered to Amrothos and he was already watching her, the embers of fear burning in his eyes. Lothíriel turned her gaze back to Théoden to see him standing strong and true, his gloved hands curling into fists.

"And Rohan will answer."


	18. Chapter 18: Coming of the Dark

So, rather belatedly, I realize that I've made a boo-boo. For some reason I have made this story take place in the season of summer, however as most of you may know that is not how Tolkien wrote his story. So just go along with it. Sorry for any confusion!

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Coming of the Dark**

The morning had been a blur after that.

Théoden had called his Rohirrim to assemble; they would ride out at the noon mark. Envoys would be sent out to the far lands of the Riddermark to garner aide for Théoden's force and they would all meet at Dunharrow in two days time; on the third, Théoden declared they would ride for Gondor and the City of Kings.

War was on the horizon.

Lothíriel had been swept up by Éowyn and the women had stolen away to pack for the journey ahead; the Lady of Rohan had informed her that it was tradition for the women to accompany the men to the encampment before departing from them the day of battle. She packed quickly but mutely, ignoring Althea as the maid chirped away at the gathering of the soldiers.

"…and then Hildale said—"

The great knock that sounded on the door thankfully interrupted the maid and caused Lothíriel to pause in rummaging through her borrowed wardrobe. Althea answered the door and was almost barreled down by the mighty Amrothos dressed in full Dol Amroth war regalia, his sword perched on his hip. His eyes flickered to the bed where clothes were strewn about and his face grew black.

"Lothíriel—"

"Amrothos do not start." Lothíriel moved from the wardrobe to her satchel, stuffing a second gown inside. Not much more would fit, but she was traveling light; she would be back in Rohan in five day's time such as it was.

"You think to accompany us?" Amrothos gestured to the bed, not overlooking the bow and quiver of arrows that Lothíriel bid Althea to fetch her. There was also the dagger she had brought along from Dol Amroth, the rest of her coin, and her empty wineskin.

"To the encampment, nothing more." Lothíriel snapped, stiffly moving back to the wardrobe. She was aggravated and dismayed enough by all that had transpired this morning and did not need her brother's sore attitude to worsen her own. "You will not have to put up with me much longer, brother."

Amrothos grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. "You have been nothing but trouble from the moment you concocted this harebrained plot of yours! You cannot expect me not to be suspicious of you!"

"You act as though all of your own ideations and actions have been born of innocence and ingenuity!"

"Lothíriel, I merely worry for your safety!"

"Overbearing and insensitive is not like you, Amrothos!"

"I am your brother and the only kin you have in this land! It is my duty to look after you!"

She ripped her arm from his grip. "The last thing I need is for someone to look after me! When will you learn that I am more than just a child? Though I may be a woman I am still a _human being _with feelings and thoughts of my own, with a will that I can act on and learn from _just like you. _And just like you I seek to protect those I love and yes, I have made some stupid mistakes these past few weeks, but who on this earth is without fault? You and I both know I am _far _from daft and more than capable of taking care of myself; I think I have proven that to you well enough! You may think I am acting like a child, but in reality I am acting as _Lothíriel! You_ do not get chided for being yourself, so why should I?

"I will accompany you to the encampment and then ride back to Edoras with Éowyn, as is tradition in Rohan." She threw up a hand then to stop the words about to tumble from his open mouth. "Do not worry, I will be here upon your return to depart with you for Dol Amroth with all the obedience and docility I possess. I do not want to tempt father's wrath any further than I already have." Lothíriel turned back to the bed then, her skirts swirling with the force of her ire. Her shoulders shook from her ranting, her face mottled with red streaks of anger. To busy her trembling hands she reached for the sheath of her dagger and shielded the blade, her thoughts a maelstrom of anger, dismay, and irritability.

It was only when she heard the snicker of the door closing did she close her eyes against the tears the threatened to spill over her lashes. The morning had been a raging river of tumultuous emotions and with the imminence of a battle looming ever closer, her anxiety rode high.

Yet through all that, her thoughts were mostly consumed by Éomer.

_I will never get the chance to speak with him, not now_. She thought, more furious at herself than anyone else, as she rammed her blade into her satchel with vigor.

_What did you think would come from a few days spent with one another? A courtship? A proposal? A lifetime? Did you really think so much into something that did not even happen? _She sniffed, trying desperately to ignore the tears that had breached her lids and were coursing down her cheeks. _Silly girl. Maybe you are the naïve child Amrothos accuses you to be._

Lothíriel threw up a steadfast wall to block out the nagging of her conscience to finish packing her belongings. She needed a clear head now, not to be weighed down by the chaotic musings that had gotten her nowhere in the past couple of days.

She finished her hasty job by strapping her cloak securely to the outside of her saddlebag. She had exchanged her slippers for boots and brought her bow and quiver to rest on her back before moving to the hall to meet up with Éowyn. She found the woman dressed in a high-necked travel gown of durable brown linen and a pair of sturdy leather boots, her hair pulled back in a crisp knot at the nape of her neck. She carried a saddlebag and a sword, her head held high and her eyes resolute.

"Are you ready?"

Lothíriel nodded once and they fell in stride to the throne room. Éowyn did not broach what happened earlier in the dining hall and Lothíriel did not deign to bring it up either; her emotions were still too very raw. Now was not the time to focus on trivial matters that involved frivolities anyway.

"It will take time to raise an army at Dunharrow and time is something we do not have." Éowyn said as they broke free from the eager commotion of the hall and into the streaming daylight of the morning.

Lothíriel knew the truth of her statement more than she wanted to admit. She also heard the note of fear in Éowyn's timbre. "We must hope that the time we are allotted is enough."

The women took the stairs to descend from the Golden Hall to the stables and found their mounts, Windfola looking skittish next to a prancing Firebreather. Despite all that had happened this morning Lothíriel smiled at her old friend, taking the reins from the stablehand who slipped off in relief with a gracious thank you.

"We meet again, Firebreather. Are you ready for another journey?" she asked the mount who tossed his regal head in impatience.

She and Éowyn worked in tandem to ready their mounts, attaching their respectable weapons to the trusty steeds. Guards and soldiers around them were doing the same thing, donned in armor and helmets and clanging swords and shields.

_Again we are to watch while our loved ones leave us, _Lothíriel thought, taking an apple she had pilfered from the hall and treating Firebreather, her gaze lost as she stared into nothingness. _Again I am left behind when I am more capable a warrior than these farmers and blacksmiths._

She grabbed the horn of the saddle and mounted Firebreather, patting his neck to steady the beast. Éowyn had done the same with Windfola and they led the horses away from those still gathering their wares, joining the other women who had chosen to ride out to bid their loved ones farewell, not knowing if they would ever see them again. Éowyn delved into conversation with a few of the women who were mounted and ready to leave while Lothíriel gazed out over the village of Edoras, her eyes hauntingly dim. She watched as people scrambled this way and that, helping to prepare for the journey ahead. Tents were brought from the armory and put onto wagons, food was procured from the kitchens in baskets and skeins, and horses were led from the stables ready for mounting. The air was thick with humidity but there was a harsh wind whipping about, and Lothíriel watched as the flags from the battlements snapped back and forth, back and forth.

_Some will never see this place again_, she thought, her eyes leading her to the thatched roofs and welcoming homes. The happy people she once knew were stricken with fear, racing to and fro with anxiety lacing their now pale features. Too far gone were the memories of the celebration, and Lothíriel felt cold as she thought, _some will never know the loving arms of their kin after this day_.

She could not stop the thoughts of Éomer then and her lips trembled. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and looked down at her gloved hands as they curled tightly around the reins. _I will see him gone when he rides to Minas Tirith, not knowing if he will ever return. But what does it matter? There can be nothing between us. I've known this since the beginning._

"Riders of Rohan!"

His booming voice took the yard by storm and Lothíriel looked up to Éomer as he stood before the great doors of Meduseld. Théoden and Aragorn flanked him and Lothíriel thought he looked so fierce standing there, boasting his strong leather armor of Rohan, his helmet stowed beneath one arm. He carried a spear with his other hand and his sword hung from his waist while his hair tossed in the wind that carried his voice over to her. The tears that had threatened to spill a moment ago now burned as she watched him stand tall and proud before his people, his brown eyes glinting in the harsh light of the morning.

"Remember now the oaths you have taken for the great country of Rohan!"

Firebreather tossed his head and neighed in exasperation, more than ready to be off already. Lothíriel did not consol him, too entirely enamored by the man addressing his people.

_He is all that is great and good of a man, _she thought. _I sit here ruined by him, for who can claim not to be ruined if someone plagues them day and night?_

_ How I wish things had gone differently this morning, but alas my foolishness has brought me here. The angry fire in his eyes told me he is lost to me, if I ever even had him in the first place._

_ I will never know now._

"We call upon you now to fulfill those oaths! We will stand strong in the face of Mordor; _we are the Rohirrim!_"

The soldiers took up a deafening cheer around her that Éowyn joined in. Lothíriel did not have the motivation to do so, could only watch as Éomer descended the steps of the Golden Hall to take up the reins to Firefoot and pull himself to saddle. Théoden and company followed suit and as Éomer pulled his horse around to help lead the fray, his eyes caught Lothíriel's.

Her grey eyes could not pull themselves away no matter how much her conscience bid her to for the sake of her sanity, and she held his gaze with a forlorn yearning she could not tame. They were only a few steeds apart and _oh, how easy it would be to go to him, to apologize for my foolhardiness! _But that time had gone, and come now were the tides of war.

_I will know Éomer no longer._

Still his gaze lingered and Lothíriel could not stop the single tear from coursing down her flesh. Firebreather was jostling beneath her, tossing her this way and that, but she did not coral him; her attentions were solely for the marshal. She watched as his eyes hardened and his lips thinned, and she opened her mouth to call for him, to beckon him to her one last time.

"Éomer—"

Her voice was lost as the call to ride out rang true, and Éomer swung Firefoot around to lead the way. Soldiers rode out from around her and yet she delayed, watching Éomer until he disappeared down the hill into the city of Edoras.

"Heyah!" Éowyn kicked Windfola into a canter and Lothíriel belatedly did the same to Firebreather, letting her tears dry in the wind.

* * *

Although he sat tall in his saddle and rode with the fierce pride of the Rohirrim at his back, Éomer felt disconcertingly hollow in the center of his chest. The hails and farewells from his kin fell on deaf ears; he only heard her voice, calling his name one final time before he rode off to war. He did not see the handkerchiefs waved his way in good luck or Théoden galloping beside him atop Snowmane; all he saw were her grey eyes captivated by him only a few steeds away, how she looked at him with anguish in her eyes.

_I have been a fool. In so many ways._

"Éomer! Take to the East Emnet and summon every able-bodied man you can muster!"

Éomer nodded at his king, raising his arm and extending it to the east so his éored knew to follow him. He kicked Firefoot into a strong gallop as they exited the city, and with him at the forefront, he and his men took to the plains of the Mark.

_I should've kissed her that night. I should have taken her into my arms and been done with it. Maybe that would've cured me of my want of her, and I would not pine for her so._

He knew that to be a futile thought. Since laying eyes on her barely a week ago it was her smile he saw in every face, her laughter that haunted him on the night winds, her face that captivated his waking and sleeping mind. He had a sinking suspicion that a simple kiss would only drive him mad in need of her.

_I let jealousy and ire consume me and now it has brought me here. Why did I bring up the foolish things Amrothos said? I know not if I will get the chance to change what has happened, but if I do it will probably be too late._

_ But how would she explain her actions of avoidance? Maybe she is not as interested as I believe her to be…_

Éomer, always collected and always steadfast, had been rendered senseless, indecisive, and utterly defenseless by a mere woman. And he secretly feared he always would be when it came to Lothíriel.

But he did not know the outcome of this war; he may never return to Edoras. He may never again enjoy the breeze whipping over the Riddermark or the company of his men. He may never know the joys brought on by a simple mug of ale and a warm fire, or even the comforts of his own bed. That would mean he would never have a chance to right his wrongs in the matter of Lothíriel, and it pained him to acknowledge such. However damning she may be to his sanity he had come to respect and care for her, more than he wanted to admit at this moment. The fact that he may never see her again, whether by her being hauled off by her father or him losing his life in warfare, the notion sat unwell with him.

_I will never know her kiss or the joys of her flesh. I will never know what it may have been like to be held by her, or welcomed home with her waiting for me by the hearth._

His gut twisted and Éomer laid low on Firefoot, coercing his mount into a harder gallop. His thoughts were a mess, his emotions even more so. But he knew one thing with absolute surety: this army of Sauron's was not a trifle thing.

And he knew they had not encountered the worst of it yet.

_And yet my heart and thoughts remain not on the tides of battle but on a simple girl, one with a beguiling smile and a heart of the purest gold._

* * *

The caravan to Dunharrow was long but they made time well enough; it was early evening when they reached the large refuge. Théoden and his personal camp took to the cliff top overlooking the valley filling up with soldiers, Éowyn and Lothíriel included. Lothíriel stayed out of the way of the workings of the men as they made camp, and instead watched the valley fill with soldiers from Edoras and villages close by, the men pitching tents and making fires to stave off the cold of the night.

The land of the valley was lush and green, boasting merrily the ides of early summer even in the shadow of the Ered Nimrais. Trees scattered about the wide expanse of green and thickened to a forest behind the tents of Théoden's personal retinue. They were close enough to the river Snowbourn that they were able to fetch water freely and amply. However the tension in the air was growing with war riding ever closer on flaming hooves.

_Who would think that my journey would lead me here? Just a handful of days over a fortnight and I have encountered all I had hoped and more. In the midst of war I stand, and proudly too._

Lothíriel wrapped her arms around her middle and watched as the valley fell into the darkness of dusk as the sun dipped below the mountains before her. She felt a presence next to her then, and glanced over to find Éowyn taking in the rows of tents starting to take form far down below.

"I can only hope that my brother and Gamling are able to muster enough Rohirrim to ride out and present a viable force against Sauron." Éowyn said softly.

"Two days is not a lot of time, but I do not doubt the will of your people to fight hard and strong." Lothíriel replied.

"With the men of Gondor we will make a great foe indeed for the greed of Sauron to conquer."

"While we stay back and keep home and hearth, not knowing if we will ever see those that mean the most to us again." Lothíriel whispered, her fingers curling against the linen of her gown as her eyes lost their glow, her heart falling heavy in its beats.

"Will you not talk to me about this morning?" Éowyn broached, causing Lothíriel to close her eyes. "What happened between my brother and you?"

"I wish I knew." Lothíriel turned to her friend then, her nerves positively frayed. "Oh Éowyn, I am such a fool! I could not speak, was so overwrought with misgivings and emotions I know nothing of and I let envy cloud my judgment! I spoke out of turn and infuriated him, and now I fear I will never be able to apologize for my actions."

Éowyn took her hands and began to soothe her gently, willing with everything in her to keep Lothíriel from shedding tears.

"What if I never see him again? What if he rides for Minas Tirith and my father comes to collect me from Edoras? Or worse yet, what if…" Lothíriel could not bring herself to say it, instead dropped her eyes to the ground as the tears she could not stop fell. "I am a veritable tragedy; if given the chance I would do so many things differently."

"There will be a chance! We will defeat this monster and Éomer will return safe and sound, and we will fix this!" Éowyn squeezed her hands, bidding Lothíriel to look up and meet her gaze. "You cannot fret; you must remain strong for your kin and the men of Rohan. They have all come to rely much on you and it would do their will no good to see us worry over something that cannot be helped. We need to stay strong for them."

"We should not be left behind while they fight this foe alone." Lothíriel sniffed, raking a shaking hand beneath her eye. "I would not see my brother ride off to his doom with fear in his eyes."

Éowyn searched Lothíriel's eyes, her grip tightening. "I know, my dear friend; I feel that in the depth of my soul as well. But for now let us lend them our kind words and smiles, if only to give them a little bit of hope to ride out with."

"I know you are right." Lothíriel's smile wavered precariously as she swept her face of tears completely. "I would take some of your hope and use it as my own."

Éowyn smiled, taking Lothíriel's arm and linking it with hers. "Come; let us help the women prepare the supper for the evening. It will give you something else to focus on than these times of despair and heartache."

Lothíriel had never cooked a day in her life, but she was quite adept at passing out bowls. She took her role in stride and the evening passed by unknowingly quickly. She made polite talk with the soldiers and saw to their needs, smiling all the while. She was even bid to sit down a time or two, and found herself laughing along at some of the stories the men shared. It helped take her mind off of her personal matters and exhausted her thoroughly enough that she slept well into the next morning.

Lothíriel woke up in time to catch one of the last warm bowls of porridge for breakfast and watch the sun ascend the sky. The camp below had filled considerably with troops that had arrived overnight, but there was no sign or word of Éomer. She could only hope with every ounce of her being that he made the journey safely.

_If only so I can watch him from afar, _she thought with a sigh. She was perched on the ledge of the cliff overlooking the valley of the river Snowbourn, her legs tucked beneath her in the dew of the grass. The sun had risen but was hidden by clouds; it would be an overcast day. The air was hot but not cloyingly so and the shadow from the White Mountains made their camp a little chilly when the wind blew by.

"You shouldn't look so unhappy this early in the morning." A voice quipped from her right and Lothíriel turned quickly to meet the beaming smile of Merry. He was chewing on an apple and produced another for her. "It is almost time for second breakfast!"

Lothíriel giggled, taking the apple. "I daresay I have never heard of second breakfast."

"Och! What is wrong with the race of Men? No second breakfast?" Merry shook his head, sighing heavily. "A crime."

"I'm sure I would be as big as a horse if I ate as many meals as hobbits! What are there, seven in all?"

"Not including snacks and sweets." Merry chirped, taking a hearty bite of his apple. "Now I will know what a princess has to be upset about before the sun hits the noon mark."

Lothíriel looked down at the apple before taking her eyes back to the camp below. "It is nothing compared to the ides of war that are upon us."

"Do you worry much for your kin?"

"Most of my kin is in Dol Amroth and I know not how they fare. I can only hope that all is well and that the war hasn't reached the coast."

Merry sat down next to her in the grass. "Aye, that's how I feel about the Shire. If I can stop this madness from reaching my home I will do anything in my power, even if it means taking up a sword."

Lothíriel looked at Merry then to find his eyes locked on the encampment below, his brown stern. "There is little I wouldn't do as well."

He looked at her then, and they reached a silent understanding of one another in that moment. Lothíriel smiled and Merry nodded before chomping on his apple once more, leading Lothíriel to do the same.

_I do hope that father is all right, as well as Erchirion and Elphir. And I worry for Amrothos, riding into battle. I wonder what I would be doing if I were home now?_

"Have you ever been to the coast, Master Merry?"

Merry chuckled. "I had not been a lot of places before joining the Fellowship, but still the coast is not one of them."

"In exchange for me visiting The Green Dragon you will have to visit Dol Amroth. It is lovely, a different way of life." Lothíriel mused, fond memories taking flight in her mind.

"Will you tell me of it?"

And so she did, passing the morning with details and stories of her homeland. Pride rang in her words and Lothíriel found that for the first time since leaving home she truly did miss it. However, she wouldn't want to be back in this moment. No, for all that she had seen and accomplished so far it was well worth the hardships that had accompanied her.

"I heard you have seen Rivendell. It is said that it is the most beautiful place on Middle Earth."

In exchange for her tales Merry told his own, delighting her with his quest to destroy the One Ring thus far. Lothíriel found it much more invigorating than her own and was captivated. Her and Merry became fast friends throughout the morning until Éowyn finally found them and did not hesitate to chastise Lothíriel for not helping with the morning meal.

"I was becoming acquainted with Merry! He is the most liveliest of storytellers!"

"A fine ale-drinker, too!" Merry retorted, stirring a laugh from Éowyn.

"Would you care to accompany us, Master Merry? A few of the men have set up practice targets and are working on their aim; I wanted to take Lothíriel down there to prove to them all how much they lack in skill at archery." Éowyn said, helping Lothíriel climb to her feet.

Lothíriel smiled, a true smile that touched her eyes. "That sounds like it will be the most fun I have had in a very long time." _Though I daresay I will sorely miss one eager marshal's presence_. Lothíriel fanned out her skirts and dusted the grass from them, taking her porridge bowl with her.

"Here; I will take that to the cook's tent and will meet you there." Merry took her bowl and scurried off, leaving Lothíriel to take Éowyn's arm as the two languidly strolled toward the back of the camp on the cliff.

"You look to be in better spirits this morning." Éowyn remarked, glancing at Lothíriel.

"If I do not think about it." Lothíriel admitted. "Which is not often." _He plagues me night and day._

"I will admit though, the war has been at the forefront of my mind. It is closer now and more serious than I could've ever imagined. It is chilling to think that more lives will be lost because of one creature's greed. Not to mention what is to become of the fate of Middle Earth."

They carried on in silence and made it to the makeshift range soon enough. Lothíriel sent a page running for her borrowed bow and was amused when she heard two soldiers exchange groans.

"You are to take up the bow, my lady?"

"Gladly," Lothíriel quipped as Éowyn giggled. "It would not be a good day if I did not best a man at his own sport."

The afternoon passed and brought with it a gentle rain, sending Lothíriel and Éowyn to the latter's tent for cover. Merry joined them and they passed the time playing a game of stones and sticks and laughing well into the twilight.

The women took up their usual post at the cook's tent for supper, serving the soldiers their meal and passing banter to make them smile.

"It is not every day I am served by a princess." One soldier said in passing and Lothíriel laughed, offering him a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread.

"Better than I cooked your meal," Lothíriel smiled at him. "I fear I am a horrible cook."

"If I could stare at your pretty face I wouldn't mind washing down your food."

"Easy now! The Marshal will have your head for just speaking to her!" The soldier's friend rammed him in the ribs with an elbow and Lothíriel nearly dropped the new bowl she was filling with stew.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right princess?" The soldier winked at her and was nudged again before he and his friend left the line, leaving Lothíriel suddenly feeling very cold.

_If only they knew how wrong they were, I'm sure their affections would be loaded quite more liberally_. Lothíriel barely gave the next man a smile as she forced her raging heart to calm. _So our affections had not gone unnoticed. _She did not regret and abhor the notion like she once did, suddenly wishing that things were simple like that once more.

_How is it that I have turned away the only man who has ever wrung more than a passing glance from me? One who is handsome, intelligent, and humorous? Very unlike the suitors I have been repulsed by in the past._

Only she could manage something like that. She sighed. She was past the point of tears; Lothíriel was more resilient than that. But that did not mean she did not long for what could've been.

And she knew, for the rest of her days, that she always would.

* * *

She and Éowyn had finally taken their own meal and were chatting lightly with Merry to pass the night. Lothíriel was finished with her own supper and was yawning when a serving woman bustled up, offering to take her dish.

"In all my life I have never seen an elf; I do not know if my mother will believe me when I return home!" she said, interrupting Merry's conversation and causing Lothíriel to frown.

"What's this you speak?"

"There are two of them in the tent of the king, and strike me down if they aren't the most handsome males I've ever seen!" The maid gushed, taking Éowyn's bowl as well. "They claim to be the sons of Lord Elrond."

"Elladan and Elrohir." Éowyn breathed, her wide eyes turning quickly to Lothíriel. "They have been friends of Men for a long while, yet why are they here?"

Lothíriel was up before she finished speaking and had reached down to pull Éowyn up with her. "Let us go find out!"

"Wait for me!" Merry jumped up after the two women, scampering to keep up with their long strides.

The women were barred from the tent, but Lothíriel was more adept than the guards gave her credit for; she took her companions around back to eavesdrop what they could through the thick canvas. Hidden in the shadow of the trees behind them, no one was the wiser for their presence.

There were four shapes in the tent whose characters could not be determined by the dim torchlight inside; Lothíriel knew from process of elimination one was Théoden and the other two were the sons of Elrond. Who else was there?

"…the prophecy of Malbeth." A strong, strange voice carried through the canvas.

Another voice unknown to Lothíriel spoke then. "Elrond would have us remind you to remember the words of the seer, as well as the trek of the Paths of the Dead."

Lothíriel shot a frown to Éowyn who shrugged, yet her own brow was marred. In her time spent with the soldiers Lothíriel had heard some of them speaking of the "shadow of the mountain" and "the evil that lingered therein". However when she questioned a few of the men on the matter they would not speak of it.

"They would've long forgotten their oath by now." The voice of Aragorn was forlorn in its denial.

_The fourth man is the heir of Gondor!_

"You know they cannot rest until their oath is fulfilled; they wait for the heir of Isildur to free them." One of the unknown voices spoke again.

"'From the North shall he come, need shall drive him'."

There was a very long pause then, so long it would seem that the tent had been vacated; and then:

"Is this what Gandalf meant when he spoke of coming by another road?" Aragorn's voice was barely discernable; she strained closer to the tent to hear the next words.

Lothíriel heard the gentle rustling of linen and ethereal chiming as the shadow of something was passed from one set of hands to another.

"We have brought you this."

"Made by our beloved sister, Arwen Undómiel."

The intake of breath from Aragorn was hopeful, and he was breathless as he asked, "She still resides in Rivendell?"

One of the shadows nodded and there was a long passing of silence again before, "We would see you take your place as the king of Gondor."

"Elrond also bid us bring you this."

Another shadow of an item passed from one set of hands to another, and Lothíriel was adept enough to know that the item was a sword. She watched as an unsteady hand pulled the weapon from its sheath with vigor, the unmistakable ring of a sword slicing the night air. She wished with every fiber of her being that she were inside that tent! She could only imagine what was transpiring!

"The shards of Narsil have been reforged under the eyes of our great father Elrond to form a new blade: Andúril. Take it with you unto the Paths of the Dead and claim your right."

Éowyn and Lothíriel exchanged a look bred of wonder and puzzlement before Éowyn took her hand and led Lothíriel to the front of the tent once more. They peeked around the side with Merry popping in below them, and from around the tall body of one of the guards they watched as two very tall and slim elves broke free from the confines of the tent, Aragorn and Théoden falling in their wake.

"We will accompany you on your journey if you so choose to accept your destiny, Estel." One of the elves said, and Lothíriel could not help the gasp that passed through her lips at the sight before her. With long, dark hair and striking grey eyes, the elvish brothers identical in looks watched Aragorn with nothing short of reverence in their gazes. They were dressed in matching tunics and breeches of dark grey, long cloaks of stormy blue about their shoulders. One carried a long, curved sword at his hip and the other a longbow almost as tall as he was.

"I will see to it that you are given shelter for the night." Théoden told the elves, and they turned their eyes to him before nodding in graciousness.

"Thank you for coming Elladan, Elrohir; it is good to see you again from our time in Rivendell. I had heard that you had sailed into the Undying Lands."

"And miss all the fun?" One of the twins adopted a crooked grin and Lothíriel thought him most unnervingly handsome in that moment. "It is not our time yet."

Aragorn's own lips curved into a smile. "See to the cook's camp and have something to eat; a tent will be prepared for you here."

And with that the two elves departed, bowing swiftly and shortly to Théoden as they took their leave. Théoden sent off a guard to prepare quarters for the noble elves and Lothíriel and Éowyn could not help but to exchange a look of bewilderment as they ducked into the shadows with Merry.

"I wonder what all this means!" Éowyn whispered excitedly.

"I think it is a lot more than meets the eye." Merry said, earning a nod from Lothíriel.

"Aye, bigger things indeed are unfurling."


	19. Chapter 19: Destiny Unfurls

**Chapter Nineteen: Destiny Unfurls**

The next morning Lothíriel was up early enough to help with breakfast, and she found the sun barely peaking over the trees to lay light on the growing encampment of soldiers. More had arrived throughout the day yesterday and overnight, but their forces were still not yet at the five thousand mark; and if rumors of Sauron's army were true, it was not enough by half.

Though the spirits of the soldiers were cheery and the warmth of the day had begun to blossom, Lothíriel found herself in a wilted mood. She could not shake the solemn forlornness that had darkened her days, and her thoughts and regrets concerning Éomer had yet to cease.

_What is wrong with me? I am better than this, very much more resilient_, she tried to tell herself as she served the soldiers their bowls of porridge and an apple to break their fast with, barely smiling as one by one they shuffled tiredly down the line.

_Not where he is concerned_, her conscience chimed.

When the convergence of hungry fellows began to dwindle, one of the serving maids bid Lothíriel to take her own breakfast and, rather reluctant that she would not have busywork to distract her thoughts, the princess took up a vacant seat at a nearby fire pit. Serving maids, soldiers, and young lackeys bustled around her doing this task or that, chirping bright morning welcomes to one another as they went about their duties. The sun had come to rise full and brilliant above the camp, and Lothíriel listened with only half an ear as those around her chattered happily while she deigned to find solace in her solitude. Her eyes were only for her unbecoming and dreadfully bland breakfast so much so that she did not notice her brother take a seat beside her.

"You have not had your tea yet, have you?" Amrothos asked knowingly. He extended a mug of the steaming brew in her direction and Lothíriel smiled, setting her bowl of uneaten porridge aside.

"Thank you," she told him softly, closing her eyes as she sipped.

"I saw little of you yesterday, but the times I did catch a glimpse you were nothing but somber, and then this morning too. What is wrong Little Loth? Are you worried about tomorrow?" Amrothos asked gently, his concern for his sister evident in his grey eyes. As siblings do their earlier squabble had been forgotten and forgiven, and Lothíriel now took comfort from one of the only things left that granted it to her in this strange place and dark time: her dearest brother.

"It is not that." she said absentmindedly, opening her eyes to gaze in anguish at her tea. She said nothing more and failed to look at Amrothos, and so did not catch the look of sudden disdain that had traipsed onto his features.

"If this is about the marshal…" he began roughly, and Lothíriel's posture grew rigid, her bones turning to ice as the blood drained from her face.

_For the love of the gods, Amrothos, please do not go there._

"It has not fallen beneath my notice that you two spent an overwhelming amount of time together in the past days. Nor have I not seen the looks you share, or how he is always the first to your side in any matter." His tone was stern, his brow heavy as it slashed across his eyes. Lothíriel looked at her booted feet, then the dirty hem of her borrowed beige gown, and then the steaming mug of her tea; anything to save her from looking at him and his knowing glare.

"Lothíriel, you should not be thinking of him. He is below your station; you are meant for greater men."

"For the good of Dol Amroth." Lothíriel said, her tone full of spite, that of which Amrothos took no notice.

"Yes, for the good of Dol Amroth." Amrothos replied. She noted the disquiet in his tone, and below his contempt and her obstinacy she knew Amrothos spoke only because he was worried for her, did not want to see her get hurt. "It would do you well to stop wistfully longing for something that cannot happen, Lothíriel. In many ways Éomer is well out of your reach."

Lothíriel did not want to hear of the subject anymore; her chest felt so heavy it threatened to cave in on her. "Have you heard from father?"

Amrothos sighed heavily, drawing Lothíriel's gaze. "I have not. I worry that something is happening at Dol Amroth, but it will have been hard to hear from him because we have been moving so much."

"I hope he is all right." Lothíriel whispered, bringing her mug to her lips. She really did wish the best for her father; he had always been her most steadfast rock of support and she suddenly missed him greatly in this moment. She loved him dearly, with all of her heart, and did not want to think of anything harmful falling in his path.

_Erchirion and Elphir too. I hope they are safe wherever they may be._

"Father is a great warrior, Little Loth; do not fret for his sake." Amrothos nudged her gently and she smiled, though the gesture did not even come close to reaching her eyes.

"I worry for you all." she told Amrothos, bringing her grey eyes to meet his own as her smile twisted into one of teasing fun rather than forced hope. "Though I'm sure nothing could penetrate that thick skull of yours."

"There she is!" Amrothos laughed, standing tall and offering her his hand. "Would you like to accompany me? Legolas said he would introduce me to the sons of Elrond; they arrived last night."

Her somber mood, ever-hovering just beyond her realm of being, quickly returned. She knew she was not in the right state of mind to make pleasantries and had no motivation to do so, so she replied, "I will pass."

Amrothos shrugged, dropping his hand. "Suit yourself. Just do not sulk the day away." Lothíriel eyed him warily as he glared in jest down at her. "Promise me."

Lothíriel rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to tell him that she would do as she pleased, when she suddenly caught Amrothos in a different light. He looked _tired_. His joking and handsome façade faded and his eyes lost a bit of their light; instead, fear, dread, and apprehension wrought his features. She thought she saw his shoulders sag and ten years come upon him in that moment, causing his visage to visibly wilt.

"If there is any happiness to be felt, I wish it for you. It is strained anymore, and few and far in between."

Amrothos took his leave of her and Lothíriel watched him go, her heart heavy. _What happened to the fun brother I once knew? The one who always accompanied me in my mischief and was my steadfast rescuer with an ample excuse when it came to father's ire?_

_ War has changed him; he is burdened heavily with responsibility and my presence has not made it any easier on him. _A streak of guilt took her then, dampening her mood even further.

Sulk the morning away she would.

* * *

It was lunchtime and Lothíriel was at her usual position with Éowyn at the cook's tent, passing out bowls of stew to the soldiers. The mood in the camps both above and below was thickening with tension as the day wound on without word or sight of new soldiers, though there were those that tried to remain joyous. Lothíriel put on the best face she could muster for the men, but it was not until the sons of Elrond appeared that true happiness lit her features for the first time in days.

_I will never tire of the sight of an elf!_

"Lady Lothíriel," They bowed as one spoke, his voice a most beguiling lilt that teased her senses. "And the Lady of Rohan. We are Elladan and Elrohir." Elladan was the one who spoke, gesturing to himself and then his brother.

Lothíriel and Éowyn both bid the males curtsies, blushing lightly in their regal presence.

"A sincere pleasure." Lothíriel said. "What brings you to Dunharrow?"

"Besides your legendary beauty?" Elrohir was quick to say, wringing a laugh from the princess.

"We came on behalf of our sister; she is the beloved of Aragorn and made a gift for him to take into battle." Elladan answered as Lothíriel took a bowl from Éowyn and filled it with stew as the Lady of Rohan handed the elf a thick slab of bread.

"We also came to offer the men hope and guidance in the battle to come." Elrohir added, accepting the same confections from the ladies as his brother.

"Are there no more elves that would do the same?" Her tone was not condescending; Lothíriel was truly curious.

"Most of our kind have sailed for the Undying Lands; I cannot speak for Mirkwood or any others." Elladan said. "It does us great honor to be here for our friend and ally Strider, as well as his people."

"And we are most happy to have you here." Éowyn said with a gracious smile. "Thank you for sharing your faith; we need it if we are to face such an army."

"You mean to accompany us then?" Elrohir asked.

A heartbeat of silence passed, causing Lothíriel to glance at Éowyn to ascertain what stayed her answer. She barely caught the spark of something flicker through Éowyn's eyes before she responded, "We will see your leave from here."

"A pity; I have heard of your great deeds of battle from the men of Rohan, Princess Lothíriel. And do you not have elvish blood?" Elrohir asked Lothíriel, who nodded in turn.

"She is a fine archer. Maybe one day she will grace you with her skill." Éowyn said, causing Lothíriel to blush lightly but smile most proudly.

"I look forward to such a day." Elrohir responded, ducking his head in a short bow before moving off with his brother.

Before Lothíriel could ask Éowyn what she had been about, a group of soldiers moved up for their own meals, grumbling only a little at having been detained. Not much time passed after the encounter with the elves that Éowyn and Lothíriel joined a small group of soldiers from Rohan in their own sampling of the afternoon meal. The talk around the fire was light and of anything but war, and Lothíriel found her mood lightening ever so slightly as the sun trekked across the sky.

* * *

After seeing to the cleaning of the dishes from the meal, Lothíriel and Éowyn took to visiting the soldiers with Théoden. The king looked weary but stood tall and proud, offering his men much hope and sparing none for himself. His words were inspiring and strong, and Lothíriel and Éowyn always followed up with a kind word of their own.

"I thank you much for accompanying me," Théoden said to the ladies as they walked the encampment below the cliffs. A small contingent of riders had arrived at the passing of the hour, but by the growing look of angst in Théoden's eyes and the thin lines of worry around his mouth, it was still far below his expectance. "The men value your presence here."

"It is the least we can—"

"Théoden King!"

A single rider cantered up to them then, his horse foaming and sweating from the hard ride. Théoden looked up at him in alarm, and instantly the might of the king took the forefront of his composure.

"What news have you?"

"I bring word of the return of Éomer from the Mark; he will be here within the hour."

Lothíriel felt herself pale as her knees turned to water. She faltered ever so slightly but was quick to cover it, though she could not stay a hand from flittering to her throat as it first constricted in panic and then released in her relief, a trembling exhalation escaping her lips.

_He has returned safely._

Théoden nodded up at the rider. "Rest now and find something to eat," he said, and the rider swung down from his horse with a nod of thanks.

Théoden turned to Lothíriel and Éowyn then. "See to it that a tent is prepared for Éomer. I will want a full report from him when he arrives and will send him up thereafter."

The strong beating of her heart ceased to quell as she curtsied her farewell to Théoden on quaking legs, and Lothíriel found herself more than thankful for the dismissal; she was not yet ready to face Éomer. The sting of embarrassment and his rejection of her still rattled her very being; how easy he had been to dismiss her! If it were up to her at all, she would never lay eyes on him again.

_Aye, keep telling yourself that_.

Lothíriel and Éowyn gathered their skirts and headed for the Stair of the Hold, moving swiftly under the glaring rays of the sun.

"I wonder what news from the Mark Éomer brings, and if he has collected a great many soldiers. We could use the bolstering." Éowyn's eyes were steadfast on her path and Lothíriel noticed how she worried her bottom lip in disquiet.

"Of course he has," Lothíriel said to comfort her friend. "The loyal people of Rohan know no fear and would be more than willing to lay down their life for their king."

* * *

It took longer to reach Dunharrow than he wanted to when Éomer and his company rode into the encampment in the late afternoon. Already the sun was threatening to dip below the Ered Nimrais and take with it the warmth of the day; with the shadow of the mountains looming so close Éomer knew the night would be cold. He was exhausted and filthy after riding hard and fast for two days, scouring the land for men to recruit; he brought close to seven hundred from the East Emnet. He was not overly proud of the number and hoped that Gamling had been more successful on his hunt for able-bodied men.

Firefoot was dripping sweat as Éomer swung down from his mount, removing his helm as he turned to face his waiting king. He gave Théoden a short bow and said, "Seven hundred from the East; word is still spreading through the villages I could not reach so mayhap we will see more tonight."

"We leave with the dawn's rise tomorrow; I hope they reach us in time." Théoden looked less than confident at the notion but gave Éomer a nod of thanks. "You did well Éomer. See to it you eat and rest. There is a tent made for you up on the cliff overlooking Harrowdale; it is where my retinue is."

"Any word from Gamling?"

"He sent a rider forth to say that he is bringing five hundred from the West; that will put us over six thousand strong." Théoden dropped his voice, his eyes hard. "It is still not enough, Éomer."

Éomer wiped a line of sweat from his brow, perturbed by this new bit of information. "No more have come?"

Théoden shook his head solemnly and Éomer let out an aggravated sigh. "They will. We must have patience yet."

He spoke with a faith he did not have and Théoden could see the truth in his nephew's eyes. He laid a heavy hand on Éomer's armored shoulder and dropped his voice to say, "No matter the outcome of this war, it will not be said that the Rohirrim faltered in the face of the enemy; we will stand strong and true no matter how outnumbered we are.

"The sons of Elrond arrived last night delivering beacons of hope to Aragorn; it is with him that my faith rides. Rohan will carve the way and he will see us to victory."

"Did the elves bring reinforcements?"

Théoden lifted his chin a notch higher, a flash of annoyance streaking through his eyes. "No. But this is the time of Men and we will see it through."

Éomer nodded at his uncle though his confidence in the situation dwindled further. He stepped back from Théoden and took the reins to Firefoot to make for the Stair of the Hold, but before he could move around Théoden, his uncle grabbed him by a gauntleted wrist.

"If something were to happen to me in battle," he said, his eyes moving back and forth between Éomer's. "It is you who will be my heir."

Éomer straightened his spine and set his shoulders back, an instant rebuttal on his tongue. "This will not be your last battle, uncle."

"Aye but if it is, it is you who will lead Rohan." Théoden grasped his forearm tightly, his eyes narrowing in on their subject. "And I could not ask for a better successor."

Responsibility suddenly weighed more heavily on Éomer's shoulders than it ever had before. He knew the words Théoden spoke were true, had always been true, but for some silly reason he thought Théoden would live forever and he would continue to be Marshal of the East Emnet. He was happy with his position, could not ask or want for more. But the sudden shift in the times was not to be ignored and Éomer could not rebuke the man who had raised him for the better part of his life.

"Now go. Eat. I will see that your men are taken care of."

Éomer nodded at Théoden and took to the Stair of the Hold, Éothain and a small retinue of his own éored following in his wake.

* * *

Night fell swift and brought with it a howling wind that rattled around the base of the mountain, whipping the trees and snapping leaves from their branches. Fires flickered at the campsites and the horses were unusually restless, prancing in the shadow of the White Mountains. Éomer had washed as best he could in the small basin provided in his private tent and changed into clean clothes before taking to the fire Éothain had made. His second had brought news earlier that Gamling had returned, bringing less than the number he had boasted of; the men that had planned to meet him on his way to Dunharrow had not shown.

Éomer sat down heavily on a fallen log and took the bowl of stew given to him by Éothain with a thankful nod, his body suddenly screaming with all of the aches and pains from his hard travel. His mind was weary too, for when he was not thinking about the inevitable war looming black on the horizon he was plagued by thoughts of Lothíriel.

"They say the Paths of the Dead lie somewhere between these mountains." Éothain said from around a mouthful of bread. "It is why the wind howls the way it does."

"Rubbish. There is no such tale as those of the Dead." Éomer had eyes only for his bowl as he replied, suddenly more sour than he had been all day. _Thinking of her again, are you?_ His conscience chirped, causing Éomer to scowl into his bowl.

"They say that Elladan and Elrohir brought a prophecy about Aragorn to surface." Éothain waved his bread around to accentuate his words. "Something about the dead awakening by 'the heir of him to whom the oath they swore'."

"Who is this 'they'?" Éomer looked up then, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"The men have been talking. Elrond's sons came last evening and there has been much speculation on that event, which is also fueled by the fact that the heir to Gondor has kept to himself most of the day." Éothain explained.

"He prepares to leave now." Gamling took a seat beside Éomer, letting out a heavy sigh as he took up his wineskin.

"What's this?" Éomer looked at his friend, eyes now wide with disbelief.

"Aragorn is readying his mount to ride unto the Paths of the Dead."

Éomer had discarded his bowl and his bread and was on his feet in the space of a heartbeat. Éothain was up and after him and Gamling as well, leaving his wineskin in his wake.

"Éomer!"

Éomer strode around tents and campfires, drawing more than one inquisitive eye to fall on him as he strode with all the force of his anger. To leave on the eve of battle? _We ride for Minas Tirith with the rising sun! _The wind whipped his tunic and trousers, absolutely howling against the wall of the mountain, bending the branches of the trees to match his fury.

"Aragorn!"

He came upon the makeshift horse paddock that had been created against a thicket of trees and the wall of the mountain where Aragorn was indeed saddling his horse. The ranger had a cloak about his shoulders and a sword at his waist, longer and wider than the one he usually carried.

"What is this?" Éomer stopped before Aragorn, his eyes ablaze. "You are leaving? Now?"

"Éomer—"

"You know we ride tomorrow for the City of Kings!" Éomer spoke hotly, his temper raw. A small crowd of soldiers had begun to form around them and the horses grew restless, stamping or pulling at their bits, sensing the negative energy in the air.

"There is something I must take care of." Aragorn replied, his eyes flickering to the crowd and then back to Éomer.

"What could be more important than riding out with your allies?" Éomer asked loudly, drawing a wave of murmurs from those gathered there.

"Saving them."

Elladan and Elrohir appeared then, leading pristine mounts the color of snow. They too were dressed in cloaks and armor, dripping in weapons and regarding Éomer with aloofness.

"Aragorn rides for a much greater cause." Elrohir spoke and Éomer lifted his chin, refusing to be cowed by the ethereal twins.

"But you are needed here." Éomer looked at his brother-at-arms with confusion in his eyes, his voice still raised in fury.

Aragorn spoke lightly as he replied, "I have come to understand what Gandalf meant; have faith, Éomer. I do not abandon your kin on this night or in the days to come."

Legolas and Gimli appeared then already astride Arod, the horse Éomer had gifted them not long ago.

"You too?" he snarled, his eyes darting to the elf and the dwarf before turning back to Aragorn. "This is madness!"

"He leaves because he must." Elladan said, swinging up onto his horse.

"Éomer listen to me," Aragorn stepped closer to him then. "I have learned that the Corsairs of Umbar threaten the peace of Minas Tirith in addition to Sauron's army. I leave to secure us an ally that cannot be beaten; you must trust me in this."

At that moment a wind so fierce ripped through the camp that Éomer felt chills take his spine. He looked up at the mountain, to the gaping pass not far from where he stood. The horses were frantic now and many men rushed forward to quell them, grappling for control.

Éomer turned to look back at Aragorn and searched his blue eyes for untruth. There was no deceit to been seen and so Éomer reached forth and took Aragorn's forearm in a firm grip, nodding his head in solemn resolution.

"Ride hard."

Éomer stepped back and watched as Aragorn mounted Brego, the men behind him rife with ire.

"What is this?"

"He leaves now?"

"Marshal!"

Éomer watched with hard eyes and a heavy heart as Aragorn kicked Brego into a strong canter and he led the way into the mountain pass without a single look back. The moon became eclipsed by a thick cloud in that moment and when it reappeared again, Aragorn and his small company were gone.

"Éomer!"

Éomer turned to find his sister standing not but three paces from him, her eyes wide and face pale. "Where does Lord Aragorn ride?"

"Éowyn." She looked stricken in the faint moonlight, her hair whipping freely about her shoulders. His heart softened then and he took her hand to place on his arm, turning to guide her back to his camp. "I have missed you."

"Tell me what is going on," she demanded, and he could not hide a smile at her brazen tone.

_It would be unwise to sew dissent; I must have faith in Aragorn. _"Aragorn leaves not to abandon us but as a last effort to secure hope." Éomer raised his voice to carry over the howling of the wind to those that lingered.

"He has left us in our time of need!"

"Nay," Éomer said to the soldier who had spoken as the others exchanged looks of doubt and fear. "He has not; we must have faith in him as our ally.

"Get some rest; we ride out early tomorrow morning and it is a long way to Minas Tirith."

The soldiers dispersed with more grumbles than they had come with. Éomer waited until the last of them had returned to their respective sites before he slowly walked with Éowyn to his own, suddenly very, very weary.

"Much has transpired since I've been gone." He remarked lightly to Éowyn, glancing down at her. "How are you faring?"

"I was worried about you; I am better now that you have returned." She smiled up at him but it was a strained smile, one bred of worry and fear. "Will you not tell me of Aragorn? Where does he go in the darkness?"

Éomer looked down at the fierce visage of Éowyn, her pale face glowing in the light of the moon. He knew she would not be deterred from gaining the knowledge she sought, but fearing that he would be overheard and the information would cause panic he only said, "I trust Aragorn and value him as a strong fighter and a sensible man. You must have faith in him too."

Éowyn sighed as they came upon Éomer's campsite, where Gamling and Éothain had already found their vacated spots and were lost in their own conversation. Éomer saw to his sister's comfort before her took his own seat, reaching for his abandoned supper.

Éowyn's blue eyes drifted to take in the dancing of the flames, her hands twisting fretfully in the folds of her gown. "I fear I have little hope left." She turned her face to him once more, her expression bleak. "Too few have come."

"Aye," Éomer did not deny it, and it was his turn to look into the flames with an expression that spoke volumes of hopelessness. "Too few indeed."

Éowyn clutched him then, her frail fingers wrapping around his wrist in desperation. "What can we do against an army of such great numbers? I hear they bring Haradrim from the south, weapons we have not yet seen!"

"It won't do you any good to worry, Éowyn." She scowled deeply at him and removed her hand, and knowing what path her thoughts took Éomer could not suppress a chuckle. "I do not say it against your womanhood, but for my sanity as well as your own."

"My lady!"

Éomer looked up at the familiar voice to find Merry running up to them, coming to a skidding halt dressed in armor that was too big and clanged loudly through the night. He brandished a sword with novice skill that made Éomer uneasy, though the smile on the hobbit's face was enough to light the night sky with fire.

"Master Merry!" Éowyn stood then, greeting the hobbit with a cheerful smile of her own. "Look at you! I daresay you've found some armor that almost fits!"

"Aye, and a short sword too! I was lucky to have grabbed it." He swung it in a clumsy arc, causing Éowyn to laugh and shake her head at his antics.

"How many orcs do you plan to kill?" she asked him and Éomer grunted his disdain, shoveling a large bite of food into his mouth.

"Ten, at least!" Merry looked up at her then. "I have to go find a pair of gauntlets now; I merely wanted to show you my wares!"

"And what fine wares they are." Éowyn said as she watched Merry rush off again, stumbling over his too-long tunic as he went.

"You should not encourage him so." Éomer told Éowyn, waving his spoon around for emphasis.

"Whyever not?" Éowyn tore her eyes away from the hobbit and looked down at her brother, but Éomer ignored her heated gaze that foretold her spiking temper.

"A hobbit has no place in war."

"And why can Merry not fight? He has the heart and the courage of any warrior."

"Oh it is not his courage I doubt; only the reach of his arm."

Gamling and Éothain snickered but hushed when Éowyn cut them a scathing look. Éomer glanced up at his sister with a single brow raised, chewing his bread thoroughly. He found her staring after Merry once more, and her voice was soft as she asked, "Why can he not fight for those he loves?"

Éomer slowed his ministrations, his eyes narrowing on his sister. She looked suddenly hopeful, her eyes catching the light of the moon to spark as it passed between clouds.

"War should be left for men." Éomer said loudly to draw Éowyn from her reverie. _Do not think foolish thoughts, sister._

"Says the man whose king armed children." Éowyn said bitterly, her eyes turning to ice. She turned her gaze to her brother and grabbed her skirts to curtsy. "I bid you good night, brother; I will see you in the morn."

A sudden raging need drove him then, one that he could not explain. He could not stop himself as he asked, "Where is Lothíriel?"

Éowyn paused in her stride, barely looking over her slender shoulder. "She has retired for the evening. The days have found her wearied and spent."

Éomer reached for his ale and turned his eyes back to the fire, and in doing so missed the telling look that his sister left upon him. The hint of a smile shadowed her lips as she moved off into the night to retire to her own tent and all of its warmth and comforts.

_If ever there were a time…_

* * *

Lothíriel sat on her narrow cot combing her hair long after supper had been retired, her thoughts lost to even her as she stared at the scattering of small rugs covering the grass. Amrothos had been by to see her to slumber but she was unable to capture it, was still dressed in her gown from the day. The conversation had been light but strained, and finally Amrothos wrung a promise from her to see him off with the sunrise and left her to her solitude.

_If only it were calming, and not full of rage and fear_. Lothíriel thought to herself as the wind thrashed the canvas of her tent, causing the candlelight within to flicker precariously. She was barefoot but had her legs tucked beneath her and a pelt about her waist; though the night was warm Lothíriel felt unnaturally cold. There had been much gossip about the tents tonight: the coming of the elves, the return of Éomer, the going of Strider and his company, and the telling of some odd prophecy that she had only heard in whispers from her brothers when she was a child. It all made no sense to her and she fought with her deliberations now, wishing she had the company of Éowyn to talk things through with.

_There is nothing more that can be done on your part. Dawn will come quickly and your fate will be sealed, as well as those who ride out to face—_

Lothíriel lifted her head as a gust of wind stole into her tent from the gaping flap, and she opened her mouth to ask the guard to tie it down to keep it from blustering through.

She was rendered absolutely speechless, however, when Éomer appeared.

"Éomer!" She dashed up from the cot, dropping her comb to the floor. Her knees threatened to spill her to the hard ground as they turned to water, and her voice wavered with trepidation as she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Lothíriel…" His stride was sure as he happened upon her, and Lothíriel's heart quickened so fiercely that it stole her breath. Hope broke out like a wildfire within her chest as he stopped before her, too far for her to reach out and touch him as she suddenly so desperately wished to do. Instead her hands curled into fists at her sides and she tipped her head back to meet his gaze, a thousand words suddenly stuck in her throat. By the gods was he the most handsome sight she had ever seen! Unshaven yet clean, with streaming blonde hair, the most dashing pair of brown eyes she had ever seen, and the rugged, tanned skin of a man. _And he is here! _He wore brown breeches and a green tunic, and a look on his face so full of awe that she did not think he could possibly be looking at her.

_He is here… _Her heart positively rattled her ribcage in a thunderous gallop as her throat tightened furthermore with emotion. Too many emotions to name. She was trembling, a tremble that shook her from head to toe, one bred from a fear that she did not know the source of, and the brightest of hopes.

"I could not bear…" His voice was hoarse and he cleared it then, never taking his eyes from her longing gaze. How she wished to touch him! _Is this real? _Just a light graze of his chin, to feel the hard stubble of his face that was so contrast to the soft light in his eyes.

"I needed to see you before I left. To apologize for my deplorable behavior." His brown eyes traveled over her smooth features before locking on her gaze once more, ferocious in their sudden passion. "I do not know what came over me that morning and I regret all that has transpired since."

The world shifted. Lothíriel felt it beneath her feet. _His regret does not lie where I thought… _Everything suddenly clicked into place.

"You should not be apologizing!" She quickly rushed out, her words nearly tripping over one another in her shrill haste. "It is I who misspoke."

Éomer shook his head, and she missed the way his own fingers flexed and extended and his throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly. "It is not like me to…lose myself." He said carefully, as if unsure, and the discomfiture in his tone was not lost on her.

"Éomer you must understand that I did not mean a word I said; none of it at all!" She could deny herself no longer and brought her hands up, clutching his tunic, her fingers brushing the hot skin beneath. She had her chance to make things right and she was not going to lose it.

He stepped closer to her as she continued, his fingers wrapping themselves around her upper arms. "My actions spoke poorly for my thoughts; I did not avoid you because I was ashamed or angry at you, but because I didn't know _what_ to do! I have been a veritable catastrophe of femininity ever since running into you that day in the hall at Helm's Deep." Her words were breathless; she could not get them out fast enough.

"I could say the same about myself. Without the femininity, of course." Éomer smiled, a crookedly roguish smile that caused butterflies by the thousands to take flight in her stomach.

"So am I to believe that you are not that uninhibited with all of your suitors?" His hands fell to her waist, drawing her torso against his own. Her body suddenly found its peace and she shuddered at the notion, her face softening as relief swarmed her being.

_Aye, this is very real._

_ And almost too perfect to be true._

His touch was warm and filled the crevices of her chest that had been empty in the days that he had been gone. Lothíriel could feel her apprehension dwindling, replaced by the soothing sensation of tranquility that only his presence could bring. It was something she had been missing not just in the past few days, but her entire life. She knew this now.

"Suitors!" Lothíriel seethed, her eyes darkening. "Amrothos is a very good liar for I have no suitors. They were all too fat or too old or too dreadfully boring. I drove them all away for such."

Éomer laughed then, a low rumble that reverberated beneath her fingers that now lay splayed over his chest. "You are always so honest, aren't you?"

"Éomer, please forgive me." She was eager then, so desperately eager that she could not hide the hopeful look from her eyes even if she wanted to. "I thought I would never see you again, never get to apologize for _my _deplorable behavior."

"You are forgiven, princess." He took a lock of her hair in one strong hand, lacing his fingers within the strands before pushing it over her shoulder. "And I am glad for such."

Her brow wrinkled. "Glad for what?"

"That you drove all of your suitors away."

She blushed then and could not help a smile, happiness unfurling upon her lips. "That is very dishonorable of you, my lord, to have such ill will towards those you do not know."

His expression was mirthful and his eyes danced with ardor at her teasing tone. "Tell me something." His voice was but a coarse whisper now, enflamed by his passion.

"Hm?"

"Do you still think me disastrously handsome?"

"Do you remember everything I have said or only those things that pertain to you?" Lothíriel teased, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "Because I don't seem to ever recall saying such a thing."

"Maybe this will help."

And he kissed her.

It was a breathless kiss, one she gasped into and one that simply swept her off her feet. She leant into him as her fingers curled around his tunic, brushing the bare skin of his chest underneath. His grip on her waist tightened before his arms moved to enclose her, one arm around the small of her back while the other led his hand to tangle in her hair, cupping the back of her head. His mouth slanted over hers in a kiss that left her thoughtless, pilfering not only her reason for living but giving her a new one that she would cherish for the rest of her days.

His passion was intense and fueled the fire of her own, stoking the embers of her soul into a sudden, roaring fire. As his tongue pushed its way into her mouth she knew she would die if he let go of her. She would weep if he pulled away. She would scream if he thought for one second to pause. She needed this, needed it more than the air in her lungs or the very blood in her veins.

Oh, aye, she had been kissed before. But not like this. By all the gods, not like this in the least. His kiss had suddenly become her life force; the very memory of it would leave her ruined for anyone else who even thought they could stand to this wild and ardent man.

"I love your hair free." He pulled back but a single hairsbreadth, his fingers curling around the nape of her neck still intertwined with her hair. She peeled open her eyes slowly to meet his own, panting against his lips as she felt the fires of passion stain her cheeks and neck.

She smiled a taunting smile. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Éomer laughed low, brushing his lips against hers once more as the hand in her hair disentangled to trace a path from her ear to her cheek, from her cheek to the curve of her eye. "If that were true then do you think I would be following you around like a lovesick bard?" He traced her brow and then her nose, trailing his callused finger to outline her swollen lips. "I can think of nothing but you; the smell of your hair, the beguiling tilt of your eyes, the perfect arch of your lips…"

They were lips he claimed once more and Lothíriel's knees weakened; she was glad for his strong hold then. She kissed him with as much fervor as he offered her, matching his rhythm eagerly and with much pleasure. Something told her kissing Éomer was an experience all in its own, one she would do well to cherish in this moment.

He pulled back from her once more, moving his hand from where it had fallen to the slender lines of her neck to push back the hair from her eyes so he could meet them fully and deeply. "Nay princess, I have not known many women and I fear you have spoiled me for the rest of them."

She pressed her forehead to meet his own as he traced the arc of her jaw. "That night at the celebration," she murmured. "Did you mean to kiss me?"

"I could've killed Éothain." Éomer remarked, drawing a low, sensual laugh from Lothíriel.

"I thought you had too much ale and would not remember," she told him.

"In truth I had not much ale that night; I was working too hard to obtain your hand for a dance."

Lothíriel giggled, lifting her own hand from his chest to trace his lips, the line of his beard, his rounded cheeks. "Oh Éomer…" She closed her eyes and he kissed her again, this time slow, so very slow.

Many heartbeats passed before he broke away from her, his eyes half-lidded as he spoke. "I am glad I came to see you this night. I do not know what bewitching force drove me to do it, but I am glad."

"I am as well." Lothíriel whispered to him, smiling as she met his eyes.

He took one last kiss from her, seemingly unable to stop himself. But he pulled himself away though his hands lingered on her waist; he stole her warmth then, the fire that had erupted now down to burning embers once more.

"I take my leave before I lose myself." Éomer said and Lothíriel blushed red hot at the admonishment, dropping her gaze to the floor to hide the wanton thoughts that she was sure he would see dancing through her eyes. "But I will see you on the morrow?"

Lothíriel nodded, raising her head once more as his hands left her chassis. "I would not want to be anywhere else."

He did not say anything more then, merely stared at her from his spot in her tent. Lothíriel took in every ounce of him in that moment; his broad sturdy shoulders, his thick golden hair, his mirthful brown eyes, his sun-kissed skin, and his tall warrior's body. The way he smiled when he looked at her, his voice always light and playful in jest. His laugh like thunder and his kiss like soothing rain. The way his hands always held her so delicately yet protectively. The way he made her day brighten no matter if he were corporeal in it or not. His intelligence challenged her and his conversation invigorated her. His humor tested her, so like her own that she had many a times thought it very uncanny that there was one so like herself.

_He completes the woman I am to be._

He could not stop himself, it seemed. Éomer gathered her up into his arms once more and smashed her against him, stealing her breath with another soul-shattering kiss. Lothíriel laughed into this one but eagerly met him in his passion, gasping when he ripped himself away and strode for the tent flap.

It was there he paused with his hand on the canvas but his gaze on her from over his shoulder.

"Pleasant dreams, my lady."

Lothíriel could only stare after him, a simple smile tilting her lips. "Pleasant dreams, my lord."

He lingered a moment more before stealing into the night.

Lothíriel collapsed back onto her cot with a smile to blind the sun. She brought her hands to cover her face as she laughed and laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

_Pleasant dreams indeed_.

* * *

Lothíriel awoke sometime in the night to a rough hand covering her mouth and a hard force pressing her down onto her cot. She struggled as a face drew near to hers in the darkness, pressing lips against her ear.

"It is only me! Do not scream!"

Lothíriel sat bolt upright on her cot as the hands left her being and glared through the gloom of her tent, the candle long ago burnt to meet its maker.

"What in the devil is wrong with you!" Lothíriel whispered hotly as Éowyn sat on the cot next to her and took Lothíriel's hands into her lap.

"I am sorry; I just did not want you to scream!" Éowyn whispered back, and Lothíriel noticed a distinct note of excitement in her tone.

"What time is it? Surely not a time where you thought it would be wise to wake me." Lothíriel grumbled, glancing toward the front of the tent. She knew there would be a guard on duty and indeed heard the quiet nuisances of camp outside the canvas, and turned leery eyes back to Éowyn. "Did you sneak in past the guard?"

"Through the back, yes." Éowyn rushed on, her voice betraying her eagerness. "Lothíriel I have a grand idea!"

"And it could not wait until tomorrow?"

"It will allow us to fight for our kin!"

Lothíriel stilled. She tried desperately to focus on Éowyn's blue eyes through the darkness as her heart quickened into an anxious tempo. "What?" she breathed in absolute disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"Elrohir gave me the idea! Earlier today, or yesterday what have you, when we talked with them at the cook's tent! He asked us if we were riding out with the men and Lothíriel why not?"

"Éowyn…" For the first time in her life, Lothíriel was apprehensive. _Why not? There are many reasons 'why not'!_

"We will do as you did; in the garb of a soldier and upon warhorses we will not be noticed! We will merely wait until the last of the riders have embarked and will bring up the rear! There is plenty of armor and mail to pilfer, and I have my sword and you your bow!" Éowyn could barely contain her exhilaration and looked to the tent flap for movement that would prelude her being caught. It was still though, and she continued. "Merry is to accompany us as well; he thought it a splendid idea!"

Lothíriel worried her bottom lip. It sounded like it actually might…work. "Éowyn… Are you sure? That is to say, you actually think we can pull this off?"

"We will see the men off in the morning like we would and then disappear in the commotion; no one will be the wiser! And with all the troops, no one will think twice to look at us!"

The exhilaration that Éowyn exuded seeped to Lothíriel, and she could not stop the smile that lit her features. _To fight for my kin! _The sole purpose for her initial mission, so quickly forgotten, now burned bright and hot within her.

Lothíriel clasped her fingers tightly around Éowyn's and breathed, "Another adventure!"

"Aye, one where we can finally live up to our destinies!"


End file.
